


Well, What Do We Have Here?  (Baby Please Don't Go)

by destruction



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, BDSM, Character Death (Neither Castiel nor Dean), Corrupt!Castiel, Crossroads angel!Castiel, Dark!Castiel, Demonic!Castiel, Dom!Castiel, Graphic Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Abuse, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Physical Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Sub!Dean, Top!Castiel, Torture, Unrequited Love, Violence, bottom!Dean, dark!fic, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destruction/pseuds/destruction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark!fic AU.  Castiel is the black-eyed Angel of the Crossroads with whom Dean barters himself to save Mary from dying. Ripping him from his life on earth, Castiel takes Dean to Heaven to serve as a makeshift pet. The more time he spends with the angel, Dean starts to see that something bigger is happening to him and he's powerless to stop it. When Dean finds out that Castiel has been lying to him the entire time, he realizes just how powerless he truly is.  (Reuploaded by request.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well, What Do We Have Here?  (Baby Please Don't Go)

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a new fic - it was written in February of 2012. I've reuploaded it by request.
> 
> Many of the themes in this story will be upsetting to some people and I urge you take caution if you choose to read this. Neither Castiel nor Dean die in the story, but many other people do.

If anyone bothered to ask him, Dean would say his emotional outburst that consisted of a lot of choice words and a raised fist aimed directly at the doctor was completely rational and not outside the realm of normalcy. Unfortunately, John must not have seen it this way because after a minute of manhandling and a rough shove in the opposite direction, Dean is now excommunicated to the waiting room of the Lawrence General Hospital. The cup of coffee he picked up at the start of his exile is now a cold, dead weight on the bouncing knee of his leg and if he continues teething on his thumb at this rate, he is incredibly likely to reach bone. There aren’t many people in his immediate vicinity, for which he’s understandably grateful, but each voice over the hospital’s PA or random beep of unseen machinery adds one more stab wound to the back of his waxing anxiety. He’s in his late twenties and prides himself on being what he considers a real man, but right here and right now, Dean feels like a lost toddler in a foreign environment and he wants to cry.

Regardless of their age in calendar years, everybody remains their mommy’s little angel and nobody is ever ready to relinquish that honorific. Mary’s heart problem, or problems- as Dean is sure there is more than one - has never been a secret; it’s been something the family has struggled with for years and one of the largest reasons Dean has never moved too far out of reach. This logic will never outweigh the heavy feel of despair that has lodged itself deeply into Dean’s chest cavity at the news of Mary’s impending demise. John is a capable man and with both of her sons safely removed from the home nest, there isn’t really any need for her to live anymore and Dean idly wonders if maybe she’s given up. Why live when you’ve nothing left to live for? The first tears of the night spring to Dean’s eyes as he processes this thought but he isn’t sure if it’s because he’s ashamed of having such a horrid image of his mother or because he might actually be right. He hurriedly dries them on the sleeve of his leather jacket when he notices Sam approaching from the direction of Mary’s room.

The younger Winchester stands awkwardly a few feet from where Dean sits, eyes glued to the tiled floor and weight shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Dean’s leg continues to twitch gently and he’s taken to staring intently at Sam’s black sneakers for lack of anything else to do. Neither brother speaks; Dean knows when Sam plunges his hands into the pockets of his track jacket that he has nothing to report that would be even remotely pleasant to hear. The older brother digs his fingers harshly into his eyes and leans forward to rest his head in his hand, sighing softly and willing the fatigue to vanish. A false start of words spills from Sam’s mouth but dies quickly and Dean thinks if he’s ever needed a chick-flick moment in his life, now would be the time. He’s lost all interest in the coffee in his other hand and extends it to Sam because he’s grown tired of holding it needlessly; Sam takes the offering without a word.

Dean suddenly decides he doesn’t want to see his father again tonight and checks the time on his phone, bypassing the texts from Pam and Jo undoubtedly asking if Mary is okay. Finally raising his eyes to his brother’s, he opens his mouth to ask if there’s anything at all that can be done but his jaw shuts immediately upon the solemn shake of Sam’s head. Dean nods with a muttered “okay” and stands, stretching his muscles and relishing a few satisfying pops from his back. The look on Sam’s face is sympathetic and Dean wants to hate that about his little brother – the fact that Sam is losing his mother, too, and yet seems much more concerned for Dean’s mental welfare. He sees tears in Sam’s eyes that Sam is holding back for Dean’s sake and he scrubs his fingers roughly over his face once more before enveloping Sam in a rare sign of affection. The younger brother hugs back just as tightly and they stay like that for a few moments before Dean ruffles Sam hair as though he were still thirteen, offers a small feigned smile, and turns away.

It isn’t until Dean is safely tucked inside the Impala that he allows himself to actually sob. Sam’s strong desire for a formal education has already caused havoc on the family as John believes the youngest Winchester to be arrogant and ungrateful. Losing Mary will more than likely destroy it completely and though Dean has never been coiled extremely tightly around his family, he can’t stand the thought of not having it. Blurry-eyed, he scrolls through the texts on his phone as he allows the Impala to warm up and though his friends mean well, their well wishes only serve to make him feel worse. He leaves them all unanswered and drives home in an uncomfortable silence he saves only for when life gets real.

When he reaches his rundown one-bedroom apartment in the less-than-great part of town, he musters up enough energy to get a shower before he throws himself on his full sized bed, face buried deeply into the pillow. The urge to weep uncontrollably lingers just beneath the surface but the fatigue lets him do little more than worry his bottom lip between his teeth and rethink the day’s horrible events. Dean’s entire world feels as though it’s collapsing atop him and though he knows the true rubble has yet to fall, it’s already suffocating him under the heft of the inevitable. He can’t lose his mom for various selfish reasons, but he is also painfully aware that her death will be the straw that breaks his back and he needs to be better than that for Sam. He flips over to his back and huffs a sigh into the empty room, the sound loud in his ears. His body is both worn and on edge and his eyes burn from crying on the way home.

Dean is asleep for all of four hours before he jerks awake, eyes wide and heart pounding and before he realizes what he’s doing, his cell phone is in his hand and he’s dialing Pam’s number. His movements are slightly shaky as he stands to find clean clothes in the dark and he curses when it goes to voicemail. Admittedly, he isn’t completely sure of the time but he selfishly thinks that Pam should be sitting by her phone for his call during a time like this and calls her repeatedly. Although she isn’t picking up, Dean is out the door and on his way to her apartment so quickly he almost forgets his jacket. She doesn’t wake up until he’s knocking harshly on her front door.

+++

“This is for research only, Deano” were Pam’s words when she reluctantly handed him the heavy, worn, archaic-looking book that he’s currently holding and trying desperately to search through. He wants to laugh at her naivety but if she refused to relinquish the book, he’d be completely out of options and he was taught not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Dean’s head begins to pound as he tries to make sense of the foreign languages and random scrawls marked haphazardly into the margins; he really should have taken a language class in high school. He isn’t completely stupid and managed to have the foresight to Google the Latin translation for “crossroads demon” fairly easily, but now the hard part is trying to find the words in a book full of nonsense. He stumbles upon a picture that catches his attention enough make him turn the page back and study it more intently: an ominous-looking angel or what he assumes is an angel. This isn’t exactly what his mom always raised him to believe angels to be, however, with black eyes and large, black wings tipped with flames. The angel is surrounded in a ring of fire and is holding what appears to be a human heart in its right hand and a long, triangular bladed sword in its left. Underneath the image are the words “angelus compitum” and he’s intrigued enough to write the phrase on the back of his hand to look up later. Sam would be proud of his initiative.

Back to the issue at large, he continues scanning page after page of garbled words until he finally, after what seems like an eternity, finds the correct passage. He mutters an exasperated “fucking finally” and begins reading down the page; it doesn’t take long for him to realize he understands no Latin beyond what he had translated earlier. Dean screws his eyes shut and hangs his head dramatically upon grasping that he will have to type the entire thing into Google Translate and hope for the best. He rolls his eyes at himself and moves to his computer to begin typing.

Several hours and two very sore wrists later, Dean is standing in the middle of the closest crossroads he could readily find that wasn’t in the middle of a busy area that could get him either killed or arrested. In the middle of the quiet darkness, he begins to feel incredibly ridiculous and fidgets with the hem of his leather jacket in a vain attempt to relieve some of his pent up anxiety. One slow spin and a thorough scan of the area confirm that Dean is, in fact, alone and he sighs, carding his fingers through his hair before following the instructions exactly and burying the wooden box he brought with him. He’d be lying if he said he knew the purpose of all the items inside or that he completely comprehended what he’s getting himself into but luckily, there’s no one around demanding explanations. It would also be a blatant lie to say that he’s entirely confident in this unorthodox method but he pushes that negativity aside because he’ll do anything to save Mary, even if it means he has to drag something from the depths of Hell to do it. Box planted firmly in the ground, Dean keeps looking around for signs of anything supernatural and finds himself growing agitated the longer time passes. After what seems like an hour, though it’s probably only ten minutes at best, Dean huffs in exasperation and growls, retrieving the box; when he turns to walk back to his car, he sees him. 

“Well, hello there.” The thing standing before him holds a Scottish tongue and is wrapped in dark hair and designer clothing; Dean would swear it was just a passerby if not for the unmistakably red eyes staring at him intently, shining with the smirk on the man’s face. His heart beat speeds up considerably and his eyes widen, feet stationary where they stand midstep. The man raises his eyebrows and tilts his chin toward Dean, “How can I help you?”

“Holy fuck, you’re a demon.” The barely coherent words cause Dean to cringe as soon as they pass his lips and the smug look on the other’s face isn’t helping his pride at all. It takes slow, careful steps toward him and he fights his natural instinct to haul ass in the opposite direction, suddenly crippled with fear.

“That I am, mate, though I’m more of the demon if it’s all the same to you. Name’s Crowley – King of the Crossroads at your service.” The man – Crowley – extends his hand to Dean as though this was just another business meeting and Dean thinks that maybe it is. Still, he shakes his head at the greeting and bites his lip nervously. To this, Crowley smiles again and looks at the human contemplatively. “So, are we to deal or were you just lonely?”

“Uh, yeah, I-” Dean is embarrassed at his lack of charm and inability to formulate what he’s trying to say. He clears his throat and tries again, standing taller in an act of intimidation but the demon seems unfazed. “I need you to save my mom – keep her from dying.” Crowley nods approvingly.

“Noble. One healthy mother coming up.” Crowley raises his fingers as though he’s about snap them before dropping them and smirking at Dean once more. “For a price, of course.”

“Yeah, I know the price – my soul when I die. I don’t care, just do it.” Dean keeps his eyes on the demon’s hand in the air. Crowley furrows his brows and tilts his slightly to the left, hand faltering.

“Well, yes and no, chap.” He opens his mouth to say something else but stops momentarily before continuing, “We here at the crossroads work on ten year contracts. Someone didn’t do their homework.”

“I did enough. What the hell is a ten year contract?” Dean squares his shoulders to appear indignant because he knows well enough that he didn’t read through the fine print like he probably should have. Crowley makes a tisking noise with his tongue.

“If you want me to save your precious mother, I can do that for you. The tradeoff for such a transaction, however, is that we come for you in ten years. No more, no less – in ten years to the day, your soul belongs to us.” Crowley must see the look of incredulity on Dean’s face because he lowers his hand and sighs, “Look, you’re wasting my time here. Deal or no deal?”

Dean allows his eyes to drop to the dirt road, brows furrowed and jaw agape. Ten years seems a long time in theory but growing up quickly under John’s hand has taught Dean that life is shorter than people like to believe. Mary’s survival means the world to Dean but he can’t decide if this is all worth it if he won’t be around much longer to enjoy her being alive. He doesn’t even want to think about the time constraints that would force on his relationship with Sam or trying to settle down. He’s shaking his head in refusal before he realizes he’s moving at all. Crowley huffs in frustration.

“Fine, lad, but keep in mind that you aren’t going to find a better deal; don’t come back here in a few days begging for a redo because that bridge is burnt, you wasted my time.” The demon’s eyes catch something as Dean runs his hands through his hair again, eyes still settled on the ground. A loud chuckle breaks Dean from his thoughts and he stares at Crowley confused. “Angelus compitum? Good luck with that.”

Dean looks at the slightly smeared writing on the back of his hand and he lifts his head to ask the demon what the fuck he’s talking about but when he does, Crowley is gone without even a hint of him ever standing there. Hand curled into a fist but with nothing to take his anger out on, he punches himself on his thigh and curses. He contemplates throwing the wooden box into the woods in the distance but manages to calm himself down enough to huff and contemplate his next move. Logically, he knows it’s his fault that he didn’t more thoroughly read over the passage but he was tired at the time and didn’t feel like having that much patience. Dean hangs his head in shame and defeat and walks back to the Impala, tears already beginning to well in his eyes.

He feels selfish for not giving Crowley what he wanted in exchange for his own mother’s life but he also knows that Mary would be horrified if Dean should drop dead randomly in ten years. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he is almost positive that she would just give up again at that point and if heart failure didn’t kill her, something would. That doesn’t keep him from feeling utterly worthless as a human and a son, though.

When he’s lying in his bed again with a bottle of whiskey at his side and tears rolling down his cheeks, he feels more trapped than he did earlier in the day. Idly, Dean knows he should try to get some sleep because he’s going to be back at the hospital as soon as visitor’s hours begin in the morning and he really doesn’t want Mary to see him upset or burned out. His chest hurts, his eyes burn, and his head won’t stop buzzing with everything he should do, could do, would do, and won’t do. This feels like giving up and Dean Winchester never gives up; unfortunately, he isn’t really sure what else to do at this point. He doesn’t realize he’s been biting his bottom lip until he tastes the tang of blood and curses quietly, bringing up his hand to wipe the stray red from his mouth. Absently, he eyes the back of his hand to assess the damage and notices the smeared letters and mutters “fuck” as he tries to scrub his lips in the case that he just turned them black with the ink. Flipping his palm back over, he studies the scrawl and in his inebriated state, only vaguely recalls Crowley mentioning it in a less than enthusiastic way. Several minutes pass before he brings his cell phone from his pocket and lazily inputs the text, taking a long swig from the liquor bottle as he waits for the page to load.

It takes measured control that should be downright admirable not to spit out the alcohol on his tongue, though he does manage to choke on it and cough bitterly. Blinking rapidly to better focus on the small LCD screen, he stares at the translation for nearly a minute before plugging the words into a separate translator just to be completely sure. He’s out of his bed in an instant, stumbling to the book he borrowed from Pam and cursing himself for not having dog eared the page earlier. When he finds it, Dean doesn’t even take the time to study the photo like he admittedly wants to before immediately, and slowly, inputting the Latin into his laptop. After reading the passage extra carefully like he should have done with the demon, though there isn’t much to read, and some creative meandering looking for supplies and tools that aren’t what’s needed but he hopes are close enough, Dean peers over the book once more to check his bases. In the margin, he sees deep lines of ink pressed into the page as though someone had written something and crossed it out in anger; below that, in faded ink, he reads ‘do not trust in false idols.’ Dean sighs because even he isn’t dumb enough to miss that obvious warning. He is dumb enough, however, not to heed it and he shuts the book quickly. Gathering the needed items, Dean wastes no time in heading to the Impala on his way to summon a crossroads angel.

+++

The ritual is decisively different than that used for demons and Dean stumbles over its complexity; he keeps thinking that maybe he needs to start over. He’s desperately hoping that these things are for presentation only and that his substitutions serve their purposes well enough: the crucifix standing in for the object of God, the frozen rack of lamb he bought on the ride instead of blood of a lamb, and engine oil stewed with a rosary Mary had given him when he was younger to take the place of holy oil. Whatever language he’s chanting isn’t Latin or anything he’s ever been exposed to before and he’s pretty certain he isn’t pronouncing any of the words correctly. When it’s all said and done, Dean stares at his lighter as if it’s going to offer an answer because he doesn’t know if he ignites the oil now or later. If he didn’t do any of this properly, he guesses he doesn’t need to ignite anything.

In the minutes before Crowley arrived, Dean felt nothing – no weird chills, no need to peer over his shoulder, no sounds. Perhaps the thought of dealing with an angel is more terrifying to Dean than he’d like to admit because he swears everything around him is threatening to rip him to shreds just for breathing. Several minutes pass and there’s no sign of anything supernatural so Dean rereads the instructions he haphazardly wrote and brought with him because he knew he would potentially screw this complicated spell up beyond repair. Ticking the bullet points off with his fingers, he’s positive he covered everything and can only assume that his makeshift tools rendered the entire thing useless. Expecting an arrival that mirrors Crowley’s, he keeps his eyes peeled for any strange individuals popping out of nowhere and his disappointment grows with each sweep of his gaze. He wills himself not to cry and he runs his hands through his hair for the millionth time since the hospital because he knew he was a fool for thinking there might still be hope.

Dean digs the toe of his right boot into the ground and makes a step to walk away from the travesty that has been his night when a loud crack of thunder sounds above him, jolting him so fiercely that he physically jumps in surprise and lets out a sharp yelp that is muted by the noise. He watches the bolt transform as it branches out like tree limbs and causes the entire night sky to have the appearance of cracked glass before exploding in light and immediately imploding on itself and creating a crystal white ball of brightness. Just when the sphere disappears, a heavy gust of air rushes over Dean so harshly he stumbles back a few paces and gets a large whiff of something that smells of fresh rain and ozone, even though he doesn’t know what ozone exactly smells like. The wind swirls like a tornado and plummets directly into the middle of his ring of motor oil, hitting the earth with such force the impact shatters the ground under its weight and sprays debris in its wake. Instinct makes Dean raise both arms to shield himself from the wave of gravel and dirt but he’s still pummeled with rocks.

When the upsurge stills and he assumes it’s safe to uncover his face, he slowly lowers his arms and stands upright only to be met with the thing that he assumes caused the ruckus. If this is what angels look like, he’s sad to say Mary has been telling him incorrect stories since the day he was born. Completely stationary within the circle stands pale skin and ebony hair enveloped in the worst khaki trench coat Dean has ever seen in his life and he curiously peers on each side of the man but sees no wings. That curiosity dies as quickly as it arrived, however, when Dean looks at the creature’s face and is met with a pair of dark eyes that remind of the thick, black ink squids expel when threatened. His jaw drops slightly while they stand staring at one another wordlessly and Crowley’s red eyes didn’t make him feel nearly as uneasy as the angel’s black ones do. He suddenly understands why people talk of eyes as the windows to someone’s soul because he feels exposed and at a disadvantage, a chill creeping into the base of his spine. Remembering himself after a moment, he hurriedly lights his zippo and throws it haphazardly at the circle, hoping his aim is as good as it used to be. Dean is more than a little unnerved when the being doesn’t even acknowledge the flames encircling him, his entire body still and rigid and black eyes never leaving Dean’s green ones.

“Hello.” A deep, gravelly voice assaults Dean’s ears after what seems like an eternity of silence and he opens his mouth to reply but is cut short by furrowed brows and look of repulsion. “Why do you smell of an abomination? Were you in contact with a demon?” Dean blinks at the question, looking down and pulling at his leather jacket experimentally, more than a little shocked that he apparently now carries Crowley’s scent.

“No,” he hurriedly replies, voice defensive as he tries to cover his being caught but the casual lift of one unimpressed eyebrow tells him that he isn’t doing so well so he clears his throat. “I talked to a crossroads demon but that was it – he dicked me over on the terms and conditions so I left, no big deal.” Dean should have suspected that angels and demons wouldn’t be best friends and he’s hoping that doesn’t cause the creature to blow him off completely.

“That equates to you not reading the fine print of what you were signing up for; you didn’t want to sell your soul so you rejected the offer and now Crowley has you cut off. Is that why you’ve summoned me here, Dean Winchester?” The fire crackles loudly around the man encased in them and save for a slight head tilt, he’s stationary in the circle. Dean’s eyes widen at the use of his name, suddenly caught off guard and he instinctively takes a step back even though there is a barrier of fire protecting him.

“How do you know who I am?” Dean squares his shoulders in a typical act of intimidation, digging his feet firmly into the ground and setting his jaw; the disinterested look on the man’s face tells him he failed in his attempt.

“Heaven knows all. What do you need?” The angel blinks and the inky pools turn into the brightest azure eyes Dean has ever seen in his life and though he’s not positive, he thinks the irises are glowing.

“Who are you?” Dean curls his hands into fists at his sides and notices the other man ’s eyes following the movement before sighing and looking back at the human with narrowed eyes.

“I am Castiel, angel of the crossroads, though I suspect you knew this or you wouldn’t have brashly summoned me here in the middle of the night with instruments more fitting for a scrapyard than holy trappings.” The angel’s tone reeks of boredom and impatience when he speaks and he finally breaks his stoicism by pacing around the inside of his prison slowly. After he makes one full circle, he repeats, “What do you need, Dean?” Dean doesn’t like how easily his name falls from the other’s lips as though they’ve been best friends for years.

“My mom.” Dean drops his eyes to fire before him, biting his lip and he can see in his peripheral that the angel is staring at him. Tears spring to Dean’s eyes unexpectedly and he hurriedly shakes them away, refusing to show anymore vulnerability tonight than he already has. After long moment of silence, he hears Castiel huff in frustration.

“Yes?” His eyebrows are raised expectantly and Dean feels small under the condescending gaze. Dean sighs heavily and cards his fingers through his hair once more, licking his lips and continuing.

“My mom – she’s dying. I want you to save her.” The words are whispered because he’s running out of time and the sudden realization that the angel may not help him hits him like a brick in the chest. The admission strangely makes him feel better, as though the brick released a mountain of other weight built up there. He raises his eyes to the angel when no immediate response is offered to him and Castiel makes a small ‘hm’ noise, nodding.

“Understandable. I can save her.” The reply is accompanied by a mocking tone as though Dean’s problems are entirely insignificant and the human bites his lip to keep from either biting back with a snide remark or giving up and turning away. Castiel blinks and the black eyes return, a small smile on his face that makes Dean’s stomach jump uncomfortably with anxiety. “What is her life worth to you?”

“I’ll give you my soul, I don’t mind, I swear – I just – I don’t want to have some random death in ten years, I want to die naturally. But you can have it, I don’t need it.” Dean’s words are jumbled and he sounds nervous, eliciting a look of amusement from Castiel and slow shake of the angel’s head.

“I am a warrior of Heaven, Dean, we have no need for your soul. You may keep it but you must give me something.” The small smile stays in place and Dean is taken aback because he wasn’t expecting this. He assumed the deal was that he could have anything he wanted if he bargained his soul; Castiel just threw a wrench in pretty much everything. “I will ask again: what is her life worth to you?” Dean shakes his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts.

“I, uh – anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just please save her – I’m desperate here.” Dean winces at the squeak in his voice and his gut is telling him he just made a crucial mistake by offering anything but he stands his ground. Castiel looks him up and down contemplatively, head tilted firmly to the right.

“Your younger brother.” Castiel’s smile widens at the look on Dean’s face. “Sam, is it? I’ll take him.” Dean’s jaw drops.

“What? No. Just – no. Anything else but you can’t have him, no fucking way.” Dean commends himself for keeping his voice steady under the angel’s stare.

“Then she mustn’t mean that much to you, must she?” Castiel sounds smug but the look on his face tells Dean that he knew the human wouldn’t agree to that request. The idea that Castiel was trying to get under his skin and succeeded causes Dean to ball his hands into fists again.

“Anything else,” Dean repeats, taking a large gulp of air to ease his fried nerves. The smile slowly fades from the angel’s face and he doesn’t move for a long while.

“You.” Castiel’s face is void of any emotion and Dean blinks stupidly, not exactly sure how to react to this. He clears his throat and after a few false starts, reclaims his voice to reply.

“Me? W-what do you mean me?” Dean takes another step back from the flames and wishes the angel would smile again because at least then, he could see something other than a blank stare and an empty void.

“I want you. Give me what I want and I’ll save your dying mother.” The firm tone in his voice tells Dean he isn’t joking and Dean swallows the lump building in his throat.

“I offered my soul – you didn’t want it-“ Dean begins but the angel cuts him off sharply.

“I don’t want your soul. I want you, Dean.” Dean’s stomach churns as the words are uttered and he drops his jaw again, suddenly very focused on the colors of the dwindling fire. “Do you want me to save your mother or not, Mr. Winchester? This is what I’m offering you – if you choose not to accept, your mother will rot and I will beat the living shit out of you when these flames die for wasting my time.” Dean’s head whips up to face Castiel, eyes widened in bewilderment at the angel’s harsh words.

“W-what, uh-” Dean is trying desperately to form the question but can’t find the words, throat dry and chest constricted. He takes a few deep breaths and tries again. “What do I have to do? If I accept?”

“Say yes and find out.” Castiel’s lips curl slightly at the corners in a barely-there smile of amusement and challenge. Dean shakes his head again and bites his lip.

“No, you have to tell me. Full disclosure.” Dean actually has no idea what he’s talking about since Pam’s book didn’t even reference price when dealing with the crossroads angel but he’s hoping his shots in the dark will hit something.

“No, I don’t,” Castiel’s response is easy and Dean curses under his breath. “I’m not a demon, Dean, and this isn’t Hell you’re dealing with; I am not bound by their rules. You have five seconds to accept or decline.” Dean curses again and pulls at his short locks as Castiel begins to verbally count down the seconds and desperately tries to think of a solution.

“You know, for an angel, you’re more of a dick than the demon was.” Dean tries to stall but Castiel keeps counting. The flames are too bright, his head is beginning to hurt, and the chill that crept in his spine when Castiel arrived has settled directly into his bones with iron claws. The angel counts to one the same time Dean says, “Fine, I’m in.”

Everything is silent for a moment and Castiel’s eyes return to blue when Dean looks at him. The human’s palms are sweating and his jacket feels too tight against his skin; he feels like he can’t breathe and he is more than a little scared of what he’s just agreed to. The crackling of the fire seems incredibly loud in Dean’s ears and he thinks he should have taken Crowley’s original offer; the anxious biting of his bottom lip draws blood and he winces.

“Let me out.” Castiel’s voice is demanding and Dean swallows hard in his throat, eyes flicking between the fire and the angel for a few seconds before he slowly retrieves the bag of cat litter he brought with him for just this purpose.

He feels more than a tad idiotic as he sprinkles the litter along the flames, the angel spinning and watching him as he goes. When the circle is snuffed entirely, he drops the bag and lifts his chin to look at the creature but Castiel is so fast, Dean doesn’t even see him moving and a burning hot hand is tightened harshly around his throat. It takes little time for Dean to begin feeling dizzy, vision blurring as his oxygen supply is depleted by the angel’s grip. His hands fly to grapple at Castiel’s wrist but he’s no match for the strength of a Heavenly being and his defense is in vain. Dean feels himself being lifted slightly off the ground by the hand on his throat and he feels like his head is going to be ripped straight from his shoulders. Without warning, he is propelled onto his back on the ground, the wind knocked out of him completely and he’s gasping for air. As he tries to regain his composure, his vision is encompassed by a dirty trench coat and black boot pressing on his chest, the angel standing above him with angry eyes.

“Fucking idiot,” Castiel spits and pushes down on Dean’s chest once more, harshly, before stepping back from the coughing human. Dean pushes himself onto his elbows and rubs his throat, trying to smooth away the lingering pain. A hand is tangled in his hair and he’s hauled to his feet, neck pulled at a painful angle before Castiel releases him. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, what? Go where?” Dean turns and glowers at the angel’s retreating back, one hand absently rubbing his scalp where Castiel abused it. The other man slowly turns around, face showing just how pleased he is with Dean at the moment.

“We made a deal, Dean. You bartered yourself away to save your mother and I intend to collect. You belong to Heaven now. More specifically, you belong to me and when I say ‘let’s go,’ it would be wise for you to do as I say lest you want me to end your pathetic life where you stand.” Castiel raises his fingers just as Crowley did, preparing to snap them. His blue eyes are wild with something Dean can’t describe and doesn’t remember seeing when he was trapped in the holy fire but it’s something that makes him shut his mouth and stand still.

“Yeah, but –“ Dean’s words are barely a whisper, fear creeping into his voice and the sentence dies on his tongue when angel takes another angry stride toward him, eyes becoming black once more. The ground shakes beneath Dean’s feet and a burst of lightning breaks out across the sky.

“You’re mine, Dean Winchester, for as long as I choose to keep you. No ‘buts,’ no complaining, no take-backs. You agreed to this, so shut the fuck up and let’s go.” Each word is punctuated with an angry growl from somewhere deep in Castiel’s chest that Dean thinks sounds like a wild animal.

This time, Dean isn’t given an option as Castiel grabs the front of his shirt and forces him to follow, stumbling to keep up. Dean wants to ask where they’re going but after a few steps, his entire body feels trapped into a cyclone of pressure and he’s dizzy with the rush. He can’t make himself scream and he can’t feel his limbs. When the vertigo dies down and he feels stable, he’s only vaguely aware of Castiel letting go of his shirt before he falls to his knees and passes out.

+++

When Dean awakens, his body aches and his throat is raw like he swallowed razorblades and knocked them back with a shot of broken glass. His skull feels bruised and he moves immediately upon realizing he’s lying next to a puddle of his own vomit. Sitting up slowly, he cradles his forehead in his hand and looks around him, not recognizing anything in the room. The carpet is plush and burgundy, soft when he runs his fingers through the fibers, and the walls are a deep tan that only lends to darkness of the space. Dean counts two wooden desks along the side of the room and when he focuses his eyes enough to understand what is lying atop them, he is repulsed to see weapons, including a three-sided sword drenched in red, human bones, and a locked cherry box. The breath sticks in his throat momentarily but he forces himself to scan the rest of the room, finding stacks of heavy books, another locked box in the corner, and a bottle of Jack. The middle of the room is taken over by a large canopy bed, the sheets and hangings black and dark red, with a khaki trench coat thrown carelessly in the center. He stands on shaky legs and his head pounds once he’s completely upright.

“I’m always astonished by how weak humans are; you would think Father would have created you to be worth something more than passing out on my floor.” Dean whips around at the familiar voice, watching as Castiel enters the room pulling a white t-shirt over his head, his belt and waistband undone and his pants slipping down his hips slightly with each step.

Dean doesn’t reply as he’s focused on the angel’s skin. Castiel’s upper body is covered in what look like dark tattoos, but on closer inspection, Dean can see subtle patterns and symbols lining the flesh. Large marks that appear to be words in a language Dean doesn’t understand peek out of the angel’s pants and line his hips while the markings wrapping around his wrists remind the human of shackles. Castiel is throwing on his suit jacket by the time Dean snaps himself from his thoughts and shakes his head.

“What are –“ Dean begins to inquire about the strange tattoos but Castiel must sense what he’s about to ask because he cuts him off bitterly.

“Don’t ask questions.” Castiel grabs the trench coat and shrugs it over his shoulders before retrieving the bottle of alcohol and taking a large swallow. There’s a scream from somewhere outside the door and Dean jumps in surprise while Castiel doesn’t even acknowledge it.

“Where are we?” Dean looks around the room once more as Castiel straightens his tie and the angel sighs in frustration, turning to look the human with a look of pure annoyance. Black returns over his bright blue eyes and Dean bites the inside of his lip.

“Alright, Dean, shall we discuss rules?” Castiel looks genuinely interested in Dean’s answer but as Dean opens his mouth to reply, the angel continues, “First: stop that.” Dean looks taken aback and blinks. “That. That dumbfounded look you seem to be carrying – rid yourself of it because it’s unbecoming and grates on my thin patience. You are here for my personal entertainment and nothing else; you answer to me and you will be obedient or I will simply end you. Do as you’re told without question. If I send you to do something, you do it; if I become bored and want to watch you cut your arm off with a steak knife, you do it. If I feel the need to throw you around or cage you up if you become too much of a bother, you take it without complaint. You’re my pet now, Dean, are we clear?”

“Uh.” Dean clears his throat and his mind draws blank on everything for the moment. This isn’t what he wanted but he can’t think of any solution other than silence.

“That was rhetorical,” Castiel quips and walks around Dean to pick up the bloody blade on the desk behind him.

As Castiel pauses to wipe the soil from the weapon on a towel thrown haphazardly on the wooden desk, Dean suddenly feels faint and his entire body tingles. A crushing weight of pulsing electricity hits him directly in his core and it’s one of the most terrifying feelings he’s ever been exposed to. A thrumming sizzle plants itself behind his frontal lobe and he barely resists the urge to rip his hair from his scalp, his breath taken from him momentarily. Vertigo sets in and he reaches out to steady himself, his hand finding purchase on Castiel’s shoulder and he’s happy to realize the angel makes for a perfect, steady, unmovable object for him to regain composure on. Castiel’s head turns toward him slowly, inky eyes narrowed as he looks down at the hand and then switches his gaze to Dean’s paling features. When Dean raises his eyes to meet the angel’s, he realizes he’s becoming drunk from the creature’s power and his hand begins to burn as though the trench coat is made from fire. He snatches his hand back, refusing to make eye contact with Castiel and mutters a quiet “Sorry, dizzy” before turning away. The angel chuckles low in his throat. When Castiel walks out the bedroom door, Dean assumes he’s to follow and jumps when the door slams shut behind him.

+++

Dean has been following the angel around for days, the creature’s impatient schedule leaving little room for sleep or food, and the human wants to collapse. During this time, Dean has grown to strongly dislike his corrupt master with his snarky attitude and disinterest in Dean’s wellbeing outside of making certain he’s able to walk on his own. He’s slightly pleased that the angel keeps busy because it keeps him busy and the busier he is, the less time he has to think about the mess he’s gotten himself into; he keeps a running mental list of the things he’s learning about Castiel. Castiel drinks a lot – more than any human could possibly survive – but he never actually seems inebriated, though Dean isn’t sure if that’s because he isn’t human or because he isn’t drinking enough. Castiel is impatient and dislikes interruptions; accompanying the angel on deals makes Dean uncomfortable because he wants to sympathize with the poor victims but isn’t really sure what will happen if he speaks up. Castiel seems to have some sort of operation downstairs under his house (that Dean has concluded is in Heaven though Castiel refuses to tell him) and sometimes, Dean hears screams that wake him from his precious sleep. Castiel absolutely hates humanity and wishes God would just wipe the entire earth of them, though he knows he’d be out of a job if that happened. Castiel is corrupt as fuck but he won’t tell Dean more than he has hellfire running in his veins and of course, Dean doesn’t know what that means.

The most unsettling thing about his new angel master, Dean knows for certain, is his love of destruction, especially when accompanied by random outbursts of unpredictable emotions. The first deal Dean watched beside Castiel, the kid was merely a young teenager and Dean isn’t sure what exactly the kid wanted, but he was desperate. He slipped, though, and gained an attitude because Castiel was giving him the runaround and Dean felt it before anything even transpired. The air grew tighter, his body felt warmer, the tingling felt like pins all over his body, and he heard what he could only assume to be feathers rustled with hostility. With a wave of the angel’s hand, the teen’s head snapped around, the neck breaking with a sickening pop, and then Castiel snapped his fingers and exploded the corpse into a messy spray of red and chunks. When Dean’s head put together that he was covered with the kid’s insides, the bile rose in his throat faster than he could properly expel it and he ended up getting vomit on his jacket. True to form, Castiel just rolled his eyes and threw an insult Dean’s way before grabbing his arm and pulling him with him.

It doesn’t surprise Dean that Castiel possesses supernatural powers because that’s to be expected; Castiel’s lack of control over said powers is what especially worries the human. Objects take flight, light bulbs shatter, rivers flood, and one special occasion, Dean was fortunate enough to watch an entire warehouse burn with no real effort on Castiel’s part. He’s something between an unstable explosive and a child in the middle of a perpetual temper tantrum and Dean doesn’t want to know what he’ll do should he cross the angel.

The vertigo and overwhelming pressure in his chest when close to Castiel, contrary to what Dean initially believed, seems not to be intentional and Dean has concluded that he truly is just that powerful. Still no word about the markings on the angel’s skin or why the demons Castiel takes to disemboweling for entertainment have black eyes identical to his own. Though he tries to hide it, Dean is scared for what little of his life he still has left and he grows more untrusting of Castiel as the days tick by. Dean wants to act out or rebel against his master but one disapproving, or warning, look of those bright blue eyes has Dean backing down almost immediately, which he knows is completely unlike him.

During the few moments he gets to himself, typically when Castiel grows bored and irritated of his presence, his anger flares high in his chest and he mentally recites everything he’s going to say to the angel the next time he sees him. He vows not to be dragged around or insulted anymore; at the very least, he tells himself that he’ll start throwing those condescending remarks right back at him. Castiel will wake the human in the morning with a kick to his ribcage or crash of a random object in the room and the part of him that got its balls up the night before hides in the corner of his head and ultimately, Dean says nothing. He’s resolved that this must be what true, unabashed hatred for another person feels like.

That doesn’t mean, of course, that Dean doesn’t highly respect the angel for being good at everything he does. Standing beside him in the middle of a forest in Russia, Castiel lured five demons into the thicket and trapped them in devil’s traps burned into the ground beforehand. They chased the angel for an entire day starting in Brazil and somehow, even with his pet tagging along, Castiel continued to outrun them. Later, Dean would be told that Castiel began the altercation and that he was bored, but with the brilliance, speed, and agility of the creature’s play, Dean couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed that he’d been fleeing for his life all day.

Lying in the bed that Castiel procured for him in his own bedroom, Dean bites his lip and stares at the ceiling, suddenly unable to sleep. He’s been searching for clues or hints that will tell him what Castiel is really up to and why he’s keeping Dean. To him, it seems like dragging the human with him everywhere he goes is taxing on the angel and more often than not, Castiel seems genuinely displeased to have Dean beside him. He hasn’t been able to pin down his purpose here and he’s angry with himself for taking this deal in the first place; unwanted and insignificant, Dean really isn’t sure if this was worth it. At this point, he thinks he should have just stayed on earth where at least he had people who loved him most of the time and was allowed certain luxuries such as pie and sex, both of which he now lacks. He sighs and rolls on his side, burying his face into the crook of his arm and trying to ignore the ache in his back from lying down for so long with no rest. As if on cue, his door flies open with Castiel’s special telekinetic powers that Dean is secretly very envious of and the angel walks in; Dean bites his lip and sits up.

“I’m putting you to work.” Castiel grabs Dean by the ankle and yanks, effectively knocking him out of bed and directly onto his ass on the floor. Dean winces at the impact on his tailbone and looks up at the other man with narrowed eyes.

“What the fuck? Why did you do that? You could have just told me to get up, you know, you don’t need to manhandle me all of the time.” Dean scowls and stands, hand rubbing his bruised bone and Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Baby angel, you’re going to earth.” Castiel turns and walks out the door, naturally expecting Dean to follow. Dean tries to ask why he’s being called ‘baby angel’ but the real angel ignores him as they walk down the hall toward the living room. Castiel picks up a small wooden box covered in magical sigils and pushes it toward the human.

“Wait, what?” Dean takes the box without thinking and follows Castiel into the kitchen, staring at the charred symbols in confusion.

“Give that to Crowley.” At Dean’s parted mouth, Castiel rolls his eyes again. “Surely you remember: the demon you pissed off?” A bottle of tequila is taken from one of the cabinets and Dean winces as the angel takes a large gulp from it.

“Okay, but why am I doing this?” Dean turns the box over in his hands a few times, inspecting it though he isn’t sure what he’s looking for. Castiel downs nearly half the bottle before licking his lips and turning to face the human.

“Baby, I don’t do demons unless absolutely necessary – social standards, I’m sure you understand. This is why I have you now, is it not?” Castiel proceeds to swallow the rest of the light liquid as Dean tries to figure out what he’s carrying. Finally, curiosity gets the better of him.

“What is this?” Castiel shoots him a glare over the top of the bottle and Dean sighs, “If I’m transporting this, I at least want to know what it is.” Castiel finishes the bottle and smashes it against the counter, shards of glass sprinkling the area, including Dean’s hair.

“A soul, Dean. It’s a soul.” With a wave of the angel’s hand, the glass is cleared and he hops onto the table in the middle of the room. Dean touches his hair experimentally.

“I thought Heaven doesn’t need souls.” Dean picks at the padlock on the box as if it will give if he pokes it enough.

“That’s correct. Heaven doesn’t need souls but that doesn’t mean we don’t have them.” The angel kicks his feet in the air and drums his fingers to a beat only he can hear. Dean nods because he would assume Heaven is filled to the brim with souls of the dead.

“Wait, how am I going to earth? I can’t go down there without you.” Dean furrows his brows and Castiel tilts his head.

“Codependent.” A small smirk takes residence on the angel’s lips and Dean hates himself when he doesn’t immediately hate the creature’s smile.

“No, I mean – you need to do your angel thing – you need to come with me.” The legs stop kicking and Dean could swear he sees a flash of endearment on Castiel’s face before it’s replaced with a look of condescension.

“I’ll explain when you’re older, but you don’t need me. You can go down there on your own, Dean.” Castiel jumps off the table and ruffles the human’s hair, close enough that Dean can smell the ozone and fresh rain scent that is distinctly his master’s. A piece of paper is put on top of the box in Dean’s hands.

“Well, then I don’t know how.” Dean looks at the address on the scrap then up at the angel’s retreating back. He sees Castiel shrug his shoulders.

“Then learn. Crowley will be waiting.” With that, Castiel disappears, leaving Dean alone in the kitchen. He curses and runs his hands through his hair.

Sitting on the sofa in the living room, Dean contemplates his options while staring at the box. Times like these make him hate Castiel especially because he’s something of a neglectful father, leaving Dean to his own devices when he needs guidance. Sighing, he props his chin on his hand and flicks the padlock. He has absolutely no idea how to make himself move and part of him wonders if Castiel is tricking him or setting him up to do something incredibly stupid. He closes his eyes and tells himself to move but nothing happens. Dean begins to wonder how Castiel does it and realizes that as an angel, Castiel has wings; Castiel flies. Momentarily, the human is struck by childlike wonder at the idea of him spreading his wings and soaring through the sky, even if spiritually rather than corporeally. With this in mind, he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and tries to fly.

One headache and several dry heaves later, Dean finds himself doubled over on the sidewalk of a busy street, strangers passing him with looks of confusion and repulsion. His hands snatch the box protectively; he takes a moment to compose himself, and stands on shaky legs as he looks around. It isn’t a place he immediately recognizes and he looks at the address Castiel handed him, frowning in thought. By the end of it all, he gets lost twice and walks into the wrong diner because he was one street away from his destination.

When he bursts through the glass doors, his legs hurt from the walking and his face is hot with both embarrassment and frustration. Dean’s shocked when he needn’t look for Crowley because he can feel the demon’s presence to the left of him; looking, he notices Crowley sitting in a booth reading a newspaper. Squaring his shoulders, he walks over to the booth and throws the box down loudly on the tabletop, surprised when he meets Crowley’s stare with a scowl. He ignores the voice in the back of his mind telling him he’s emulating the angel he hates so much and tells himself that he’s just in a bad mood. Crowley glances at the box and then back at Dean, his eyebrows raised in amusement and a small smile on his lips.

“This is for you.” Dean’s words are clipped and he straightens his spine a bit more than necessary. Crowley puts his newspaper on the table and gestures to the other side of the booth.

“Care to sit?” Crowley’s eyes are challenging and Dean suddenly realizes he doesn’t know what this transaction is about and he doesn’t want to piss Castiel off by fucking this up. He sits down rigidly, hands on the table. “So we meet again.”

“Guess so.” Dean bites his lip, eyes flicking between Crowley and the wooden box. Crowley asks him if the box is from Castiel and Dean nods, earning another smile from the demon.

“Let me get this straight, lad. I offer you ten years with your mother and you reject it so you can become some angel’s bitch?” Crowley takes a sip of his coffee and Dean feels his face redden with shame.

“I’m not his bitch.” Even Dean knows his response is a tad too defensive to be true but Crowley doesn’t remark on it. Dean sucks his thumb in his mouth and begins chewing on it relentlessly. Crowley asks if he’s the top or bottom and the human bites down harshly on his digit in surprise, blood filling his mouth.

“You’re the bottom, then, eh?” Crowley shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t envy you at all, son. Castiel is one malicious bastard.” Dean glares at him, displeased with this demon insulting the angel so flippantly.

“Are we done here?” Dean’s words are muffled by the thumb lodged between his teeth as he tries to make the bleeding stop. Crowley smiles again and nods, picking up his newspaper and Dean stands.

He looks back at the demon but Crowley makes no move to acknowledge him so Dean drops his eyes to the floor for a beat before turning and stalking away. As he’s leaving the restaurant wondering if he’ll be able to get back to Heaven in one piece, an idea strikes him and he literally stops in midstep in the street. He bites the corner of his lip as he thinks; he looks back inside the diner and notices Crowley’s booth is empty. Sighing, Dean promises himself he won’t be gone long and that Castiel won’t even know that he didn’t come straight back. He has yet to cross the angel too terribly and he really doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of any punishment. Dean backs himself against the brick wall, closes his eyes, and tries to fly.

To his pleasant surprise, this time isn’t nearly as horrible as the first try even if he does have to stabilize himself on a telephone pole while he waits for the dizziness to dissipate. When he opens his eyes, his heart fills with something that he’s never felt before as he looks longingly toward his parents’ house. He sighs and walks up the drive, smiling slightly when he notices both John’s and Sam’s cars parked there, meaning Mary must have come home from the hospital in good condition. Absently, Dean runs his fingers down the exterior of Sam’s Charger and continues his trek to the front porch; his hand is on the doorknob when he suddenly stops himself, pulling his hand away as though he’s been burned. He can’t go in. He’s been gone for weeks by this point, he assumes, and if they aren’t infuriated with him, they’re going to at least be incredibly worried. What would Dean say?

Part of him wants to run and not look back, thinking maybe Castiel won’t notice or care but Dean has been ignoring something important during this time: he’s changing. The sizzle of Castiel, feeling when demons are around him, and now flying – he isn’t even sure he’s human anymore. When he sold himself to Heaven, to Castiel, something attached to him and won’t let go; Castiel will find him and drag him back to Heaven against his will if need be. Dean has always been good about honoring his debts, but he’ll admit that this particular one sucks the worst. Tears well in his eyes and he walks around the house instead, peering in the windows to get a glimpse of his old life.

His breath catches harshly in his throat when he sees Sam sitting in the living room on his laptop being a nerd like is typical. One of his hands is typing wildly while the other holds his cell phone to his ear, a small smile on his face, which means he’s probably talking to Jess. Dean smiles with him, a tear falling down his face as he realizes how much he misses his little brother. Idly, he wonders if Sam would forgive him if he knew he did this for Mary. He finds it hard to swallow the idea that Sam will never know Dean’s story or what he’s doing for this family. He so badly wants to tell Sam that Heaven is real, angels are real, and everything Sam prays to exists; he wants to tell him not to worry and that God is there just out of reach. Dean lets out a yelp when Sam glances toward the window and he ducks out of sight even though he knows it’s too late. He rounds the corner and backs against the wall, listening for any sign of movement and curses softly when he hears the front door open. Sam calls his name hesitantly and Dean wants to yell back but he bites his lip instead. He allows himself a moment of quiet sobbing before he closes his eyes tightly and flies; he hopes Sam didn’t see.

Castiel is covered in blood when Dean returns and slowly turns his head to cast Dean a sideways glance. The angel brushes his hands down his front and the red vanishes while Dean takes to rubbing the tears from his eyes in hopes of looking completely normal. He watches Castiel finish a bottle of straight vodka before throwing it over his shoulder where it explodes in midair and the confetti of glass disappears slowly as it hits the floor. He clears hit throat and turns to face the human.

“Meeting run long?” The tone tells Dean that Castiel knows what he did but he also knows that Castiel loves to use the method of intimidation so he’s hoping it’s the latter and swallows hard in his throat.

“Oh, did it? I didn’t even notice.” Dean plays with a frayed hem on the sleeve of his leather jacket and bites his lip before realizing he looks guilty and forces himself to look at the angel. “Sorry, Cas, I really didn’t know.”

“What did I tell you about calling me that?” His words are firm and it’s true: he’s told Dean on more than one occasion that he hates that nickname but Dean thinks ‘Castiel’ is just too much to say. Dean opens his mouth to apologize but is cut off. “Do you think me naïve, Dean?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Dean uses all the self-control he has not to bite the inside of his lip when the blue eyes turn black, which usually means bad things. Castiel slowly walks toward the human.

“Where were you, Dean?” Castiel’s jaw is set tightly and Dean can feel the sizzle in the air.

“I delivered that thing to Crowley like you wanted me to. Where else would I have been?” Dean’s voice holds a shaky tone. After his emotional breakdown upon seeing Sam, he really can’t handle this right now.

“Are you irresponsible or just that incompetent that you can’t handle one simple task?” Castiel teleports directly into Dean’s face and the human steps back innately, trying to distance himself from the nauseating electricity in the air. He’s pushed into the wall behind him so roughly, the wind is ripped from his lungs and a hand wraps around his throat painfully. “Heaven knows all. You went to see your family, didn’t you, Dean?”

“Y-yes.” Dean is having trouble forming words and nods for good measure, his eyes glued to the inky pools glaring at him.

“You disobeyed me and went on your own the one time I give you an ounce of freedom. You doubt my integrity and check on your family and then you have the audacity to lie to me about it.” The fingers squeeze Dean’s throat and his vision blurs.

Dean is tossed directly into the wall on the other side of the room, his shoulder cracking loudly at the impact and he coughs as he kneels on the floor. Two black boots stand before him and as he raises his eyes to look at the angel, one boot connects with his jaw harshly and causes him to whirl around from the force. He notices blood splattered on the wall to his right that he can only assume is from the kick. Dean takes in a shuddering breath just to have it stolen from him by a sharp jab into his chest with the toe of Castiel’s shoe, the strength of it lifting him in the air slightly and leaving him to crumple in a heap on the floor. The angel grabs a fistful of hair and cranes his neck back uncomfortably, lifting him onto his knees before punching him and landing the blow on his nose. A sickening crack is heard as the cartilage snaps and Dean groans, having even more trouble breathing. Castiel grips his throat again and hauls him to his feet, pressing him tightly against the wall and kicking him in the shin; Dean wants to fall from the pain but he’s kept upright by the angel’s strength. Another punch hits him in his already damaged jaw and he can feel the blood from his nose seeping down his face.

“Cas, please,” he whispers, blood oozing from his mouth as he does and the hand on his neck tightens; Dean wants to cry. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“You belong to me – that is not negotiable. What part of that did you forget?” Another punch to his cheek bone, his skull smashing into the drywall on the upstroke. “Or did you think I wouldn’t hurt you?” It’s whispered into Dean’s ear like the hiss of a snake and his skin crawls with it. Dean is thrown to the ground with force.

“I just-“ Dean’s words are garbled with the mouthful of blood. “I wanted to make sure they were okay. I-“ He takes a sharp breath and spits out some of the blood. “It isn’t because I didn’t – I miss them. I’m sorry, Cas – Castiel, I swear, just please.” He knows he’s begging and he knows Castiel knows but he’s never been in so much pain in his life and he’s pretty sure his ribs and jaw are broken.

The room shakes slightly and Dean can see the shadows of wings being extended on either side of Castiel, his hands curled into fists at his sides and covered in Dean’s blood. Something in the kitchen explodes, its debris hitting the floor loudly, and this is exactly what Dean was afraid of. The human’s insides feel as though they’re being twisted mercilessly and he knows this is Castiel’s doing, particularly when it feels like there’s a hand squeezing his heart and not allowing it to beat properly. He tries to talk but he can’t. Another extremely hard kick lands Dean in the jaw and he feels at least one tooth shatter from it, his head hitting the corner of the plaster with a bang. When the dizziness takes over his vision and he sees nothing but blurry dots, Dean gives up and passes out.

Castiel is sitting on the edge of the bed when Dean wakes up and he immediately scoots toward the headboard, heart speeding up involuntarily as he tries to hide in the blankets and pillows. The angel doesn’t immediately look at him and Dean inhales sharply as the memories of abuse take over his mind, his hand flying to his nose to assess the damage. His face falls in confusion upon feeling nothing but a perfectly healthy piece of cartilage; his jaw isn’t even so much as bruised. Eyes still on the floor, Castiel tells him that he’s perfectly fine and Dean wants to know why but he doesn’t say anything. He sits up and rests against the headboard, arms crossed protectively over his chest with the blanket draped over his shoulders. Dean wants to scream and perhaps kick the angel in the ribs, anger boiling heavily in his veins, but he takes to shredding his tongue with his teeth instead.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The angel finally turns to look at him, blue eyes shining brightly like always, and Dean looks flabbergasted at the statement. Castiel licks his bottom lip and rephrases, “I didn’t want to, at least. I don’t want to hurt you, Dean.”

“Then why did you, you sadistic son of a bitch?” The words are out there before Dean realizes what he’s even saying and the angel’s eyes narrow at him in a heated glare. Castiel stands and towers over the bed, looking every bit as dangerous as Dean knows he is.

“Hold your tongue, heathen, or I will rip it from your throat. You disobeyed me when you made a decision I did not make for you – you are my property, which means you no longer have options or choices.” A low growl seeps into his words and his lips curl slightly in a snarl. Dean swallows hard in his throat as he waits for Castiel to continue. “Don’t cross me, Dean, or breaking your bones will not be the worst I do to you.” Dean’s eyes widen and he grips the blanket tighter, face pale and jaw agape.

“Are you hungry?” Castiel’s face splits into a sparkling smile as though the previous conversation never took place and Dean just stares at him. The angel raises his eyebrows at him expectantly and Dean understands that the question isn’t rhetorical.

“Uh, y-yeah.” He nods hesitantly and visibly flinches when the angel holds out his hand for Dean to take. Something dark flashes across Castiel’s features that the human would have missed completely if his eyes weren’t glued to his face. Dean swallows hard in his throat and takes the warm hand, allowing himself to be gently pulled from the mattress to stand beside the other man.

“Are you okay?” Castiel’s fingers are gentle as the pass through Dean’s sweaty hair and he tries to look anywhere but directly at the angel. His head is lifted softly by the hand on his jaw and though the angel’s face looks genuine, Dean doesn’t miss the overwhelming void in his blue eyes. The human sighs shakily and nods, trying to offer a small smile of reassurance. Castiel travels his eyes between Dean’s for a beat and he knows that his lie doesn’t go unnoticed but Castiel smiles anyway and pulls him from the room.

Castiel watches Dean from the corner of the kitchen the entire time he’s eating, causing the food to periodically stick in his throat and his stomach feels nauseous. Dean carefully keeps his eyes on the table in front of him and focuses on trying to chew properly, though there’s a chill in his spine that makes him feel physically cold. He wants to kill the blue eyed monster and he wants to run away but he’s never been so crippled with fear in his life. Dean sincerely hopes Mary never learns what angels are truly like because he knows this would break her heart completely. Idly, he begins wondering if there is a way to back out of his deal with the creature and maybe get some of his dignity back. The only person he could really run to would be the demon Crowley and even for this situation, that seems like a bad thing to do. Dean jumps in his seat when a soft kiss is placed on the top of his hand, gentles hands on his shoulders as Castiel moves to the human’s left ear.

“Don’t fuck with me, Winchester.” The words aren’t spoken so much as growled and it’s a noise he’s never heard Castiel make before; his voice sounds as though he possess two sets of vocal cords on each end of the spectrum of octaves. His breath is warm on Dean’s neck and the human whimpers at the intrusion, earning himself a painful squeeze to his shoulder before a soft hand runs itself through his hair and Castiel walks away.

Dean freezes for several seconds before taking deep breath and pushing his plate away, no longer nearly as hungry as he was. He hangs his head in his hands and pulls slightly at his hair, eyes shut tightly and his stomach threatening to expel everything he just consumed. This is when he notices his hands trembling and he feels a tear slide down his cheek for lack of any other way to rid himself of the rage burning in his heart. Dean tosses a glance down the hall where Castiel walked and sighs heavily, deciding he should probably try to calm the annoyed angel before something bad happens again. Standing, he wipes the wetness from his eyes and swallows his sob and slowly walks toward the creature’s bedroom, finding the door ajar.

“How are they?” Castiel asks as Dean hovers in the doorway, watching the angel’s back as he moves about doing whatever it is he does, which Dean honestly doesn’t know yet. When the human doesn’t reply, Castiel glances over his shoulder. “Your family. How are they?” Dean bites his lip harshly, presuming this conversation was over when he was mercilessly beaten and threatened.

“Uh, they’re okay,” Dean replies softly and watches Castiel turn toward him with a smug smile on his face, though his eyes seem unnaturally cold, even for him.

“What a surprise, eh? Who would have thought to assume I have integrity?” The fire in Castiel’s blue depths has Dean suddenly understanding why the angel is so put out: Dean hurt his pride. A quip rises in his throat about pride being a sin but he refuses to voice it.

“Cas, I-“ The angel sends him a glare and Dean backtracks. “Castiel. That’s not what that was about, you know?” Castiel’s raised eyebrows and look of disinterest tells Dean that he actually doesn’t know. “Look, I don’t – I don’t know what you’re like, with the other angels and stuff, but I… I miss them, man. My little brother, especially. Sam’s always been like my little sidekick and that doesn’t just go away because you want it to. I didn’t think you fucked me over – it had nothing to do with you.” Castiel considers this for a moment as Dean catches his breath. “Not everything is about you, Cas. Let’s face it: you’re… selfish and the biggest attention whore I’ve ever met but sometimes, it’s not about you. Sometimes it’s about other people and this time, it was about me and my family and me trying to deal with being ripped away from them just for trying to do something good for them.”

“Okay.” Castiel nods, his lips pursed together with a thoughtful look cast over his features. He takes a few steps toward the human and licks his lips before speaking. “I understand your pathetic, codependent response to your family. You’re wrong, though, Dean – it is always about me because I say it is and will you,” he unsubtly runs his eyes up and down Dean’s body in distaste, “try to persuade me otherwise?”

“I’m just saying-“ Dean’s voice is soft in his attempt to keep this as non-confrontational as possible but Castiel cuts him off with a harsh whisper.

“Don’t. Just stop talking, Dean.” Castiel shakes his head for emphasis. “I don’t care.”

“Do you care about anything?” Dean can’t help his outburst and his look is hard even as Castiel glares at him with narrowed eyes. A small smile graces the angel’s lips and he tilts his head in a way that Dean always thinks causes him to look deranged.

“Yes, but only if it involves Heaven or myself; the rest can burn for all I’m concerned, including you and your disgusting family.” The smile on his lips widens when he sees Dean’s jaw set angrily at the mention of his family. Somewhere in his mind, Dean knows he just dropped a large advantage on Castiel’s lap but that doesn’t keep him from landing a punch to Castiel’s jaw.

The angel’s head swings back slightly with the punch and Dean curses loudly, his knuckles snapping with the impact while Castiel turns his head back to face the human. Dean cradles his broken hand close to his body and inspects the bones jutting painfully out of their sockets, hearing a soft sigh from Castiel. He traces his fingers over the hard substance trying to poke out of his flesh and winces noticeably; Dean realizes how sheltered he was as a child as this is his first broken hand and it hurts much more than he thought it would. When he looks at Castiel, he looks unhappy and bored, his blue eyes never losing contact Dean’s mirroring green ones.

“Really, Dean?” His tone is laced with disapproval and Dean steps back from him because he knows what’s coming before it even does. Castiel scrubs his hands over his face, something Dean has never seen him do, and with a look of disinterest on his face, connects his fist into Dean’s jaw so hard his head hits the door frame and the bone cracks.

Dean tries to wince but is stopped by the throbbing in his chin and Castiel grabs him by his short hair and mutters “Let’s go”, pulling him with him down the hall. Weakened he may be, Dean tries to struggle out of the uncomfortable grip though Castiel shows no signs of even noticing the human’s efforts. The lone door in the hallway swings open loudly with what Dean has personally dubbed angel mojo and though he’s never been down here before, he finds himself being pushed down the stairs by Castiel’s foot on the back of his knee. He stumbles but manages to catch himself on the wall, Castiel’s hand on his shoulder forcing him to keep moving downward.

Once at the bottom, Dean is grabbed by the collar of his shirt and hauled to the right, down another hall that looks empty and barren with disgusting yellow tinted plaster. The doors are outlined with dark brown trim. Passing by one of the doors, Castiel slams his fist into it and a scream answers the noise, loud and screeching, and Dean jumps in surprise, though he’s forced to keep walking. They stop at a steel door at the end of the hall, Castiel using his powers to undo the latch. He pushes Dean inside and the human takes note of his dreary surroundings, finding literally nothing but concrete and brick. He looks at Castiel in shock, feeling utterly betrayed for some reason with the realization that he’s being locked away.

“Do you like it? I hope so, you’ll be spending the next three days in here.” He smiles and Dean whimpers low in his throat, his jaw not allowing much else, and Castiel rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll water you on occasion. Now go stand in the corner and think about what you did.”

The door slams shut, engulfing Dean in darkness and he immediately strides to the door, pounding his uninjured fist into the metal but never receiving an answer. He takes his anger out on the door until his hand is bruised and swollen and no longer able to function properly, though it serves no purpose other than tiring him out. Broken jaw or not, Dean sinks to his knees with his hand plastered against the entrance and cries his first real tears since becoming Castiel’s pet. Curled in a ball on the cold, dirty floor of his cell, he falls asleep with tears in his eyes in a fashion that hasn’t happened since he was a child; he dreams of his family during the night and wakes up lonely.

+++

Castiel opens the steel door three days later and the harsh, artificial light from the hallway floods the dark space; Dean squints against the intrusion, shielding himself with his arm and backing further into the corner. As he focuses his eyes, he distinguishes the silhouetted frame of Castiel leaning casually against the door and he glares at the angel. The creature enters the room and stands in front of the human’s crouched form looking just as bored as usual with an unimpressed scowl on his face. Castiel’s warm fingers touch Dean’s forehead, though he flinches back, and within a second, his injuries are entirely healed and he can move his jaw again. He stands and glowers at Castiel for a beat before pushing him by his shoulders with all the strength he can muster. Though the angel doesn’t stumble back like Dean was hoping, he looks annoyed and narrows his eyes at his victim.

“What the fuck?” Dean’s eyes are wild with anger, though his starved body really doesn’t have the needed energy for a fight. “What the actual fuck?” He pushes Castiel again and receives an answering push, knocking him into the concrete wall.

“Have you not learned your lesson?” Castiel tilts his head and frowns.

“Which lesson? That you’re fucking sadistic or that you’re completely batshit insane? What the hell is wrong with you, Cas?” Dean squares his shoulders and when Castiel opens his mouth to reply, he cuts him off sharply, “You locked me in a fucking prison cell for three days, asshole, seriously. What the fuck? Wha – why do you even have this room? “ Castiel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll make it six days if you don’t watch your mouth, boy. Don’t tempt me.” Castiel’s eyes flash black momentarily before they return to their normal azure. Dean’s breathing is heavy with anger and they stare at each other unblinking for several seconds before Castiel lets out a breath and his face softens. “I would imagine you’re hungry.” It’s a statement rather than a question and Dean can’t say no because he’s starving so he remains silent.

The angel turns around and stalks from the room while Dean controls himself; hesitantly, he follows. Castiel stops in the hall and looks back, waiting for the human to catch up and Dean’s eyes are glazed with hatred to which Castiel only smiles. When Dean gets a few steps from his captor, the angel doesn’t miss the jerk of his head when he reaches to trail his fingers down Dean’s cheek. Blue eyes wash over Dean’s face with that sparkle of endearment Dean has only seen a few times and as always, it doesn’t last very long. Castiel whispers something about Dean being feisty today and the human swallows hard in his throat, knowing he would lash out if he wouldn’t hurt himself more than the angel. Dean watches Castiel tilt his head slightly and lick his lips in a way that reminds him of an animal preparing to eat its prey.

“That was cruel,” Dean says lightly, the angel’s eyes flicking up to meet his, warm fingers still on his cheek bone, cradling his chin. To his surprise, Castiel doesn’t immediately respond and just continues to stare with an indiscernible look on his features; finally, a small smile emerges.

Just as Dean moves to turn his head away from the soul-searching gaze, chapped lips are pressed softly to his and elicit a gasp of surprise from him. Castiel runs his thumb along Dean’s cheekbone and tilts his head, placing more pressure on the human’s lips in perhaps the most chaste kiss Dean has ever been subject to. A tongue his run along Dean’s bottom lip softly before Castiel places another slow press to his mouth. The angel licks Dean’s taste from his lips as the human stands dumbfounded, not sure how to react in this situation.

“I do it because I’m fond of you; I want to keep you but you have to learn to be good or I’ll have to kill you.” The words are soft and Dean furrows his eyebrows at the most twisted, backhanded compliment he has ever received.

As quickly as the mood shifted, it shifts again as Castiel backs away and smiles ominously at Dean before turning and walking down the hall. Instinctively, Dean runs his fingers along his lips in wonder before jogging to catch up with Castiel; idly, he can’t wait to eat. Once upstairs, Castiel gestures with an open arm toward the kitchen, which Dean takes without hesitation and heaves a sigh of appreciation upon seeing a plate of food waiting for him. He digs into his burger with more force than necessary in a harsh attempt to erase the taste of angel from his lips and replace it with grease and mayonnaise. Castiel walks around the table to picks up a bottle of liquor from inside the cabinet, popping the top and downing about a quarter of the bottle. Dean chokes slightly on his food, something sizzling heavily from the angel and making him kind of dizzy; he raises his eyes slowly and Castiel smiles sweetly, placing the bottle in front of him. He ruffles Dean’s short hair as he walks out of the room, calling back to tell Dean he expects the entire bottle to be empty when he returns. Suffice it to say, Dean is suspicious.

+++

Sometimes, Dean lies about certain things concerning him or his life, particularly in the matter of sex and romance; people would be both shocked and appalled to learn the truth. Many of the women Dean claims to have had sex with never even so much as took off their shirts and when asked about being with men, Dean’s coy smile is neither confirmation nor denial. While he has gotten very close with a handful of men, Dean has always backed out due to his inner homophobia or hauled ass because the idea of anal sex sounds so painful, Dean wants to cry. Being inexperienced automatically makes Dean the bottom and he has never been able to take that plunge. Shocking truth number two is that Dean doesn’t drink as much as he says he does because he simply cannot handle his liquor. He learned early in high school that after a few shots, Dean does incredibly stupid, regretful things sometimes involving setting fields on fire or having sex that requires a very embarrassing, anonymous trip to a doctor two towns over.

Of course, none of this is at the forefront of his inebriated mind as Castiel pushes him onto the bed by his shoulders with more force than necessary, blue eyes wild and predatory. The angel stands shirtless with his waistband undone and Dean thinks he may have done that but he can’t be bothered to attempt recalling. Dean sits up almost immediately upon being thrown to his back, his hands running along the creature’s pale arms to cross his chest and pull him in by his neck, sucking on Castiel’s bottom lip hard enough that he would bruise if he were human. Even hazy and unfocused, Dean is surprised that the sharp angles on Castiel’s body are astonishingly soft and his skin is smooth even with what Dean now guesses are brands judging by the slightly brownish hue to them. With the alcohol stamping down his fear of the Heavenly being, he is suddenly very aware of everything about the other man, including the swing of his hips and the feminine touches in his movements.

Dean buries his hands in dark, silky hair and sucks Castiel’s tongue into his mouth, relishing the inhuman and unearthly taste he finds and moaning low in his throat. His shirt is removed quickly and tossed to the floor before he’s on his back again, Castiel getting on his knees and slowly crawling his way up the human’s body as nimble fingers make efficient work of his own jeans. Nails claw their way down the angel’s back and a growl emerges from the creature’s chest as he bites down harshly on Dean’s neck. Castiel moves back and yanks Dean’s pants and boxers off with painful force and throws them in a random direction before placing his hands on the human’s thighs and spreading them. A kiss is placed to both of Dean’s hips and with their eyes locked, Castiel runs his tongue from the base of Dean’s erection, up his torso, and into the hollow of Dean’s collarbone. The act seems filthy to Dean and he moans, bucking his hips into Castiel’s answering ones.

A bite is offered to the bone and another kiss lands wetly on Dean’s lips and the human runs his fingers along the warm flesh of the creature’s sides, dipping into jeans to squeeze at the hipbones. One clever hand joins Dean’s and Castiel moves his palm to the front of his torso, smiling when Dean understands and pulls the angel’s hardened organ from its confines, wrapping his hand tightly around it. Castiel’s lips find Dean’s neck once more and suck a deep bruise of ownership onto the flesh before he kisses a trail down the human’s flanks. He doesn’t want to let go of Castiel but he does in favor of wet heat engulfing his cock, the tip hitting the back of the angel’s throat as he swallows it entirely. Dean nearly shouts at the tongue assaulting him but is quieted by nails digging into his hip and as quickly as it began, it ends with Castiel rising on his knees to hover over him.

“Covet me, Dean.” His breath is warm on the human’s lips and another kiss lands on his mouth, Castiel dominating Dean’s tongue and winning the power play between them. Dean has to think for moment to remember what the word ‘covet’ means and then answers with a moan and wrapping his legs around the other’s slim hips.

The angel’s hand leaves his hip to insert his index finger into Dean’s very tight and very dry entrance, causing him to moan raggedly at the intrusion. Castiel whispers a soft “shh” at the shell of Dean’s ear and the human tugs roughly at Castiel’s hair to distract himself while another finger is pushed inside. The angel pumps his digits three times before adding the third finger, Dean’s body flinching away in discomfort but Castiel presses more fully against his torso, not allowing room for movement. A gentle hand pets Dean’s hair as the fingers are scissored against his inner walls and he doesn’t like this so he closes his eyes and focuses on soft hair, warm skin, soft petting, and the heavy weight of Castiel’s erection on his hip.

“My perfect jezebel.” The angel’s voice is laced with adoration that Dean is too drunk to appreciate as Castiel sits on his haunches, fingers slowing to a stop and his other hand softly tracing the line of the human’s cock.

Castiel removes his fingers and raises Dean’s hips further into his lap before spitting on Dean’s stretched rim of muscle and then his own erection, the lewdness of the angel causing Dean to moan loudly, his dick twitching with interest. With his hands braced on Dean’s hips, he waits for the human to look at him, his organ resting at Dean’s entrance. They lock eyes and suddenly, Dean feels exposed and vulnerable, the angel’s gaze intense and his hands burning hot. As typical when staring into his azure orbs, the human can’t look away even though he wants to for there is always something hypnotic about those eyes. A small smile is offered to him before his world explodes into pain.

“Be still, baby angel,” Castiel soothes him once he’s fully sheathed, a hand petting down Dean’s flanks and rubbing little circles onto his hip. “It gets better, beloved.”

Tears collect in the corners of Dean’s eyes as he tries to relax around the fullness in his lower body, wrapping and unwrapping his legs around Castiel several times as his waning member is slowly stroked back to hardness. His hand flails wildly before landing on Castiel’s arm and he squeezes, biting his lip as the angel pulls out only to push back in. The angel is murmuring encouragement but Dean can’t really decipher what’s being said. Delicately, the creature establishes a rhythm, hand never leaving Dean’s cock as he gently rocks forward into the tight body. Castiel moves slightly, positioning himself to hover over Dean, eyes locked onto his pet’s face as he makes contact with Dean’s prostate, eliciting a soft moan from beneath him. Dean’s eyes sliver open at that, fully hard once more, and Castiel only smiles.

After so much time spent being gentle and deliberate, Castiel takes to slamming into Dean with so much force, he effectively hits his head on the headboard more than once before the angel keeps his hand there to soften the blow. The brutal thrusts against his widened hips cause the bones to creak and the muscles to scream in protest, his hamstrings definitely not accustomed to stretching like this. Nails dig into his hips deeply enough to break skin and his lower half still burns with residual pain albeit each rub against his prostate causes him moan wildly. The pace is quick and Dean’s mind can’t fully keep up with the movements, vaguely feeling as though he’s some human sex toy just being fucked like a glory hole. None of this bothers him, however, because the second Castiel became violent with Dean’s body, a strange feeling crashed atop of him like the enveloping weight of a warm, heavy blanket. All he knows now is ozone and electricity, Castiel’s deep moans breathy in his ear, and the heat of the angel’s body causing Dean to sweat.

He feels like he’s drowning in a sea of the unknown, his nails digging sharply into Castiel’s shoulders to try and gain footing but never quite getting his head above water. Powerful he is, the angel isn’t prepared when Dean wraps his legs tightly around his waist and pulls him down to him, wrapping his arms around his neck and shoulders to keep him there. Castiel’s hand slams on the headboard to keep from completely falling and Dean whines loudly at the hefty press of the angel’s chest against his own, soft hair tickling the side of his neck with each thrust. Dean turns his head slightly to the side and presses a kiss to Castiel’s cheek, causing the angel’s eyelids to flutter open and reveal jet black orbs. Those eyes effectively rip Dean’s orgasm from him and he doesn’t break eye contact until the last moment, pulling on Castiel’s hair and throwing his head back into the pillows as he covers them both in hot spurts.

A loud growl is ripped from the angel as Dean’s muscles tighten around him and the chandelier in the middle of the room trembles loudly before the lights shatter one by one by the same force Dean feels washing over him in hot waves. The headboard snaps and the lamp combusts and to Dean’s surprise, the angel emits a bright white light similar to that of an aura as a bluer white seeps from his closed eyes, casting the entire room in illumination. Castiel climaxes with a loud moan, stilling inside the human, and his seed is almost unbearably hot as it splashes inside Dean. He blinks and everything is over: the white light has faded, the room has ceased shaking, and the angel is breathing heavily above him, eyes now back to blue. Castiel removes himself from Dean gently, running a hand through Dean’s sweaty hair in the process before placing a kiss to his forehead. The human reaches out as Castiel turns to walk away but is denied with a soft hush as he is commanded to sleep with a finger on his temple.

He isn’t exactly sure how long he’s been sleeping but that doesn’t seem even remotely important as Dean wakes with a start, immediately hanging his head off the bed and emptying his stomach’s contents onto the carpet violently. He lays his head on the edge of the bed to fend off the vertigo and headache, his entire body feeling like someone stuck him into a light socket and left him there for days. Dean moves to sit up and feels a burn between his legs shooting up his back and he winces, his shaky limbs making any movement clumsy and difficult. Looking around the room, the memories of the previous night flood his conscious like a broken dam and he begins scraping the dried come off his torso with a cringe. As he dresses, his surroundings look perfect though he’s positive Castiel destroyed his room last night and he becomes angry.

Walking the few feet down the hall to the angel’s room takes longer than necessary due to Dean’s dizzy head and inability to stand without leaning on something and he would kick the door in if he were in perfect health. The angel is wrapped in satin bedding lying on his stomach and he’s really only identified by a sliver of pale flesh and mop of dark hair on the pillow. Dean braces himself on the canopy pole to keep from face planting onto the floor and shakes the angel roughly by the shoulder. When he doesn’t respond, the human scowls and punches him in the side repeatedly until Castiel turns and glares at him from under the blanket. Dean doesn’t give him a chance to say anything before he’s yelling.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” Dean winces at the volume of his voice, the noise causing a slight ringing in his ears and his head to spin. Castiel pulls the blanket down far enough to expose his mouth.

“Pardon me?” He sounds groggy, his voice lower than normal and his face is riddled with confusion as he tries to focus on Dean standing a foot away from him. Dean punches him again in frustration and earns a heavy glower in return.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” When Castiel opens his mouth to reply, Dean cuts him off, “My head hurts. My entire body is sore. I feel like I can’t feel anything, like I’m floating or some shit and I feel like I’ve been electrocuted. Don’t even fucking look at me like that because I’ll be damned if this is a hangover. There is fucking electricity in my fucking skin, Cas, what the fuck did you do to me?” Castiel sighs and sits up, the blanket pooling around his bare waist.

“Everything I touch becomes destroyed. It’s part of my punishment.” The crestfallen look that falls on Castiel’s face for a split second baffles Dean for a moment before he shakes his head gently and runs his hand through his greasy hair.

“What the – what does that even mean? What punishment?” His words are hurried and Castiel doesn’t have the time to reply if he wanted to. “Destroyed? You’re cursed? And you – and now I – seriously, what the fuck?” Dean purposely glosses over the discussion of sex because he can’t handle that truth right now.

“Dean.” Castiel throws off the blankets and stands, angrily peering at the human. “What I am or am not is none of your concern and it would be wise to let it alone.” He pokes Dean in the shoulder with slight pressure, eyes lighting up in amusement when the human loses his balance and stumbles into the wall beside him. Dean glares at him and swats his hand away, Castiel catching his wrist in midair and squeezing hard enough to grind the bones and the human whimpers, trying to pull it back. The angel gives one final squeeze and throws the limb back to its owner, rolling his eyes.

“Get your shit together.” Castiel glares at Dean before retrieving his clothes from the footboard of the bed, shrugging them on carelessly. “You’re going out on your first deal.”

“Wait, what? You need to tell me what the hell you did to me, you son of a bitch. I’m not going anywhere.” Dean regains his footing and scowls at the angel who gives him a disinterested stare in return.

“Dean, are we really doing this again?” Castiel tilts his head and blinks, features twisted with disapproval and the human gapes at him. He runs his fingers gently down Dean’s face. In a flash, his eyes narrow coldly, turning black, and he slaps the human roughly, causing Dean’s body to jolt to the side with the force. “We’ve been through this, little one. This is not a request.” The cruel demeanor of the angel contradicts so heavily with the faded memories of gentle hands and encouraging whispers of the night before that Dean frowns deeply.

“Cas –“ he mutters weakly, absently wondering how to get that Castiel back to replace the inherently evil one standing before him, but the angel just shakes his head firmly.

“This isn’t up for discussion.” The tone is warning and Dean sighs, biting his lip and averting his eyes, earning a pleased hum in response. A finger trails down Dean’s flanks and his teeth sink down harder into the meat of his lip. “Don’t worry, baby angel, I’ll help you through it.” When the human finally raises his gaze, Castiel’s trademark ominous smirk is back in place and Dean suddenly feels defeated. Blinking rapidly, Dean slowly nods, eyes moving back down the floor. Castiel is silent as he moves away.

+++

Castiel says he blames his poor impression of Dean on the human’s inability to understand the procedure for dealing with the etiquette of the Crossroads, namely that summoning the angel and forcing him to apparate is a very bad thing. During one of the first deals on which Dean accompanied Castiel, the creature strolled up to the woman as if they were having a friendly conversation and when it was finished, turned to Dean and muttered, “See – that’s how it’s done. Fucking idiot.” Tonight is no different as the pair makes the short trek to their destination somewhere in the backwoods of Ohio and Dean’s heart is pounding with anxiety.

Within a few feet of their client, as Castiel calls them, Dean’s breath gets trapped in his lungs and his feet stop without him telling them to do so. A young girl stands at the intersection, wringing her hands together nervously and her eyes darting around her suspiciously, obviously terrified. She can’t be more than thirteen and she’s wearing a pink Hello Kitty tank top, which is icing on the cake for the human and he gapes. He can’t do this. The angel must not have been paying attention to his path because seconds after Dean halts his steps, Castiel pummels directly into him and Dean just barely catches his footing to keep from falling. The creature hisses a curse and momentarily distracted by the unmovable weight slamming into his back, Dean turns around and scowls. They stare at one another angrily for a few seconds before Castiel furrows his brows, “What the fuck?”

“Why’d you run into me?” Dean squares his shoulders defiantly and Castiel’s face of incredulity would be laughable if the human wasn’t so ungodly terrified of the angel. The creature stares open-mouthed for a few seconds.

“Are you fucking serious? You stopped in the middle of the road.” Castiel’s eyes narrow dangerously and Dean suddenly recalls why he stopped in the first place, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. The angel raises his eyebrows at Dean expectantly.

“No.” Dean bites his lip and throws another hesitant glance at the girl patiently waiting for them to arrive. She runs her hands through her long blonde hair and Dean swallows hard in his throat.

“Pardon me?” Castiel tilts his head at him, eyes wide with disbelief and Dean just shakes his head again, silently pleading with his own eyes.

“I can’t do this, Cas, I mean, come on. I don’t think that girl has even hit puberty yet – this isn’t right.” Dean is doing a lot of unnecessary hand motions and he watches Castiel’s eyes follow his flailing limbs with curiosity. The human is hit with the reminder that the man standing in front of him is actually a thing with little knowledge of human habits. He lets his arms fall to his sides, Castiel staring at them for another second before raising his eyes to Dean.

“Dean,” Castiel sighs but his tone is firm as though he’s disciplining the human. “She is approaching us, we are not approaching her. We aren’t doing anything wrong and in fact, we’re doing our jobs and when we do our jobs, we don’t become faced with divine punishment.” Dean is expecting a mocking smirk but when he doesn’t see one, he blinks in surprise because he never pegged Castiel for someone in fear of punishment. Dean shakes his head again.

“I can’t take her soul or life or whatever it is that she’s willing to give up. It isn’t worth it, man, you’ve got to see this, right?” Dean narrowly suppresses the urge to shake the angel by his shoulders, his hands twitching nervously at his sides. The angel hangs his head dramatically and his eyes are black when he looks at Dean again.

“What I see is a human with a dangerous empathetic response to something that is nonnegotiable.” In the time it takes Dean to blink, Castiel is inches from his face with a hand tightly wound around his throat. “No human is worth the risk of my Father’s wrath; I made that mistake before and I will never repeat it. Have you ever been to Hell, Dean? I was thrown to the wolves in Hell and you can clearly see what I’ve become – I learned my lesson.” He squeezes off Dean’s air supply, causing him to sputter in the angel’s grip. “When will you learn yours?”

“No.” The words are garbled as his vision begins to become spotted but the narrowed eyes and loud ruffle of large wings mean Castiel heard him loud and clear.

With his hand on Dean’s throat, he throws the human to the ground, causing him to skip across the ground like a rock on water. A kick lands directly to his ribcage and he curls in a ball from the pain even as another blow hits his hip. He’s pulled up by his hair and Castiel is surrounded by a faint aquamarine aura that Dean has only seen once, his raven eyes wild as he slams his fist into Dean’s stomach. Two more hits and Dean feels the worst pain he has ever felt in his life and he starts coughing violently, spitting blood on himself and speckling the angel’s trench coat burgundy. Slowly, he looks downward to identify the agonizing feeling and tries to scream when he sees Castiel’s hand firmly inserted into his abdomen, blood oozing from the wound freely. Bringing his hands to the lapels of the angel’s coat, the liquid filling his mouth denies him any chance of pleading so he grabs Castiel by the back of his neck though his hands are too weak to gain purchase.

As quickly as it happened, the hand is removed and a warm sensation floods his body as he drops to the ground in a heap of limp limbs. While he struggles to regain his breath, Dean looks toward the sky to see Castiel staring down at him angrily, still covered in red.

“My Grace is more important than her pitiful existence.” His voice is steady as he looks down at Dean. “I won’t have it ripped from me because you decided you wanted to have a conscience.” Castiel extends his hand and Dean stares at it for a few seconds before accepting the offer and standing with the angel’s help. His body is still tingling from Castiel’s Grace swimming through his veins and he blinks a few times, running his hands down his torso experimentally. “Are you ready to be a big boy and accept your responsibilities now, baby angel?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean nods and drops his head, averting his eyes from the angel’s after witnessing Castiel smirking. Castiel hums in approval.

“Good.” He tilts Dean’s chin up gently, still smiling. “Now be an obedient boy, do what you’re told, and ruin that girl’s life.” Castiel gestures with an open arm for Dean to lead the way and the human bites his lip as he walks toward the crossroads.

A chaste kiss is placed to Dean’s cheek before a hand pushes on his lower back and he glances back at the angel who mouths ‘go’ and tilts his chin in the girl’s direction. He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and tries to keep his tremor out of his step as he approaches. He hears her gasp when she sees him and she looks like if she bites on her lip any harder, she’ll break through the skin. Castiel apparates behind her, blue eyes fixated closely on Dean and making him both nervous and relaxed simultaneously. He waves at her cheerfully and does his best to fake a smile.

“Hi there,” he greets, stopping a few feet before her, doing his best to keep his eyes off Castiel in the distance. Her eyes flutter over him and her surroundings before speaking.

“Are you an angel?” Her voice is pitched with fear and Dean bites his tongue, casting a look to Castiel who nods. 

“I sure am.” Dean smiles again but falters when she doesn’t immediately respond. “Uh, what’s your name?” In his peripheral, he can see Castiel screwing his face up, head tilted. Dean does his best to keep from cringing at his slip up, not wanting to anger the angel again.

“Kayla.” Her voice is barely a whisper and Dean has to learn forward a tad to hear her fully.

“Hi, uh, Kayla.” Knowing her name makes this a little harder for Dean and he swallows the lump in his throat. “What brings you here tonight?” Castiel’s face is lit up with amusement but Dean doesn’t really know why this is funny.

“I want Brandon to fall in love with me.” Her words are hurried but definite and Dean blinks in disbelief. Castiel bursts into laughter behind her and Dean realizes she can’t see him, making him roll his eyes. She looks at him pointedly when he doesn’t say anything so he shakes his head and closes his mouth, furrowing his brows.

“Uh, Kayla, I don’t –“ Dean stutters and Castiel shakes his head firmly so Dean tries again. “Okay. Well…” He tries desperately to remember how Castiel does this, admittedly not having ever paid much attention. “How much is it worth to you?”

“Everything.” Her reply is immediate and Dean curses under his breath. He looks at Castiel but the angel is void of any emotion, obviously not looking to help the human along.

“Define everything, please.” Dean winces at her confused look but he’s trying to stall.

“Everything. Anything. Whatever.” Kayla holds a note of mocking in her voice that hits Dean in the wrong way for an unknown reason.

“Did anything you just said sound like a definition to you? Because it sure as hell didn’t sound like one to me. Spouting out random words doesn’t help me help you and I was under the impression you wanted my help. Want to try again there, sweetheart?” Her jaw goes slack and he bites his lip at his own attitude, instantly wanting to take it back or apologize. She stares at the ground, mouth opening and closing a few times as she tries to stutter a response. Castiel apparates behind Dean and slings his arm over his shoulder, whispering “calm down, little one, it’s okay” before kissing his neck softly.

“I don’t know what you want me to say – I’ve never done this before,” Kayla mutters, wringing her hands together reverently. Dean’s anger sparks again and he shrugs away from the angel, taking a few steps toward her.

“What the fuck? Do I have to do all of this for you? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, either, you know,” he snaps and she jumps back a foot or so, tears welling in her eyes and Dean scrubs his face with his hands. He’s never had mood swings before.

“B-but you’re the angel – you’re supposed to tell me what to do…” She looks absolutely terrified and Dean sighs dramatically.

“Oh my fucking God, are you serious right now?” He shouts and flails his arms wildly just as Castiel appears between them, black-eyed and professional. He puts his hand on Dean’s chest, pushing him back with a warning look.

“Enough.” The angel’s voice commands authority as he looks at the human. “And don’t blaspheme.” Dean’s eyes fall to the ground and his breathing is labored.

“I’m sorry, Castiel,” he whispers, eyes darting to the angel’s momentarily. The smile he earns is forgiving so he nods and bites his lip. Castiel turns toward the girl and tilts his head, smiling widely.

“I understand you’re in need of someone’s unabashed adoration, yes?” Castiel’s wings ruffle softly and the sound is so random, Dean smiles. The girl nods so Castiel gestures to himself and Dean. “Well, we’re here to help you with that. How important is this to you?”

“Very.” She nods enthusiastically and Castiel makes a contemplative humming noise in his throat. Dean hears another beat of a wing as Castiel’s body language subtly changes, making Dean’s eyes widen slightly.

“What are you willing to give us in exchange for your happy-ever-after?” Castiel glances at Dean and the human furrows his brows at the angel. She replies with ‘everything’ once more and Castiel nods. “Your body? Your life? Your soul?” She nods hesitantly and Castiel nods again.

With a snap of his fingers, he and Dean are covered in sticky crimson and a piece of her ribcage lands at Dean’s feet. It’s an embarrassing sound when the human screams loudly, shielding his hair with his hands under the confetti of red. When the shower ends, he looks over at Castiel who is picking something stretchy out of his own dark locks, grimacing slightly as he tosses it to the ground. The angel’s face is bored when he looks over at Dean who stares open mouthed.

“Confetti – it’s a fucking parade.” Castiel shrugs and waves his hand, clearing them both of the bloody mess.

“Why?” Dean runs his hand through his hair to make sure it’s completely clean before walking over to Castiel.

“Love spells are dark magic and I don’t touch the dark arts – it has no place with an angel of the Lord and she should have known better.” Castiel shrugs again. “Besides, she offered her entire existence – she didn’t want it so I took it.”

Without thinking it through, Dean rushes toward the angel and crushes their mouths together, his fingers tangling in Castiel’s raven locks and tugging harshly. The creature makes a sound of surprise in his throat before putting his hands on Dean’s hips and pulling him in closer. Dean moans the angel’s name between kisses and bites down on Castiel’s bottom lip, one hand moving to his lapels. When Dean realizes what he’s doing, he gasps and pulls back roughly, staring at the angel with incredulity. He puts his hand over his mouth dramatically and shakes his head.

“I – wh – I don’t know why I did that,” Dean mutters behind his palm and if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say Castiel looks disappointed, though he’s nodding. With his eyes blue again, Dean thinks his smile is a bit forced if the dull haze in his orbs is anything to go by.

Castiel makes a cross motion over his chest, which strikes Dean as not only redundant but slightly blasphemous, as he moves to root through the teen’s aqua backpack. Dean cards his fingers through his locks and sighs, eyes glancing toward the night sky as he waits for the angel. Castiel doesn’t seem to be broaching the subject of anything that just transpired, which makes it that much easier for Dean to ignore as well. When Dean brings his eyes back down to earth, he’s met with Castiel standing beside the backpack with a bloodily destroyed bone that looks to be from her arm in his hand, dangling it in front of him. He smiles at the human and shrugs, chucking lightly, and Dean frowns at the warmth bubbling in his chest at the sight. He mentally curses the angel, blaming him for the way Dean thinks he’s beautiful standing in the pile of blood and bone and hating him for his own inability to find this scene repulsive. He adds the intrusive feeling to the list of things that he locks up in the back of his mind to sort through later and digs the toe of his boot into the soft gravel.

“Can we go now?” He keeps his eyes on the ground but he hears the bone drop and the shuffle of Castiel’s trench coat. They lock gazes for a moment and the angel opens his mouth to reply but thinks better of it and nods instead.

When Dean apparates in the creature’s living room after two false starts, he notices Castiel already there leaning against the banister in the kitchen, his face carefully void of anything. He feels trapped under the blue stare and doesn’t trust himself to speak without saying something incoherent so he bites his lip and walks away. Dean closes his bedroom door and leans against it, sinking slowly to the floor and curls his knees to his chest. There’s a knock on the wood and Dean closes his eyes tightly, not wanting to deal with this right now. He swallows the lump in his throat and rests his skull against the entrance.

“You fucked up tonight.” Castiel’s voice is muffled by the door but is loud enough that Dean knows he’s leaning on the frame. “But you did well for your first time. Good job, Dean, I’m proud of you.” There’s a shuffle of noise before the basement door is opened and shut.

Dean digs his fingers into his eyes and scrapes his nails against his scalp, tugging at his short locks until his head begins to ache. Tonight was a complete disaster in pretty much every way Dean could explain it. He was beaten to a pulp again, including having his insides on his outside, he and Castiel fought like usual, and a young girl had her life mercilessly stolen from her because she wanted someone to love her. His clothes were soaked with blood, he willingly kissed the murderous angel, and none of it even seemed to bother him. To add insult to injury, Castiel has taken to teaching Dean to deal, which Dean never agreed to and doesn’t agree with at all. He feels responsible for that girl’s death regardless who actually pulled the trigger and of course her last moments alive were spent being screamed at by a random guy just because he didn’t like her attitude. Castiel says he’s proud of him like it’s a good thing and Dean should take pride in the sentiment when it just makes him sick.

Except Dean is alone and sober and sick though he may be, he does feel accomplished and he is happy that he pleased Castiel. Not wanting to feel the surge of pride in his stomach doesn’t make it go away and Dean sighs heavily. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the angel as he mocked the young girl and moved with such elegant ease, strength and confidence radiating from him in waves that Dean wanted to soak directly into his soul. As Kayla exploded before him, he was much more interested in watching Castiel’s indifferent facial expression and the way he absently licked her blood from his lips. Dean wants to chalk it up to desensitization from being around the creature for too long but he knows that isn’t what that was. He was just as excited as the angel was when her insides sprayed the immediate area, which of course caused Dean to act out and shove his tongue down Castiel’s throat like it was the most normal thing ever.

Castiel, the loving angel who hates everything, feels something other than disdain for him and it’s almost the best feeling in the world. Dean wants to hate the creature, and up until now truly believed he did, but suddenly that line has been blurred and his stomach is knotted with anxiety. Never as dumb as everyone always thought, he knows well enough that this has something to do with the electricity surrounding the angel and he knows the accidental drunken sex surely didn’t help. He could ignore it, of course, but it’s difficult to ignore things such as uncontrollable mood swings that even he can’t predict. Heaven feels confining like a prison so he curls on his side and shuts his eyes tightly to pretend he’s somewhere else. When he realizes that in every fantasy he conjures, Castiel is standing by his side, he finally breaks down and begins sobbing.

+++

When Dean wakes up, his mouth is dry and his eyes burn from the tears he shed. He’s lying on the floor and his neck is sore when he tries to move. Sighing, he sits up and digs his fingers into his eyes in hopes of making the pain go away, yawning widely. Dropping his hands from his face, his eyes catch something to his left and he notices a plate of food and a glass of tea, making him furrow his brows. A quick glance around the room tells him that Castiel isn’t around and imagining the angel giving him food to wake up to makes Dean bite his lip with conflicting emotions. After he eats, he pushes the dishes away to grab later and opens his bedroom door just as Castiel is closing the basement door and he’s covered in red again.

Dean hovers in the entryway watching Castiel pop his thumb into his mouth and licking it free of blood and the angel looks slightly startled when he finally catches sight of the human. They stare at one another for a few seconds before Castiel runs his hands down his front and the red disappears. He slowly looks at Dean again and the human breathes deeply before walking down the hall, ignoring the angel’s presence on his way. Throwing himself down on the couch, Dean picks up a book he wouldn’t normally be interested in and turns to his bookmarked page, eyes glued to the words even as Castiel walks in the living room. He’s vaguely reminded of the tense fights he used to have with Sam when they both refused to talk about the situation at hand in favor of their egos. Castiel leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Did you eat?” Castiel keeps his voice level and casual and for some reason, it bothers Dean more than if the angel would choose to scream. Dean keeps his eyes to his book and nods.

“Yeah, thanks for that.” He’s having trouble keeping his focus on the words when Castiel is staring at him like this. He wonders if Castiel would be angry if he asked him to leave.

“What are you upset about, Dean?” Though still casual, there’s an accusatory tone in the angel’s question and Dean fights the urge to wince. He shrugs.

“Nothing. I’m good.” The lie would have been believable if it wasn’t pitched and held a note of uncertainty. Dean can feel his cheeks burn.

“I thought we were passed lying when you saw the consequences of it,” Castiel remarks dryly and Dean swallows hard in his throat. He takes a deep breath but still refuses to meet the angel’s eyes. Dean opens his mouth to reply but is cut off. “This is just a vessel, Dean. I am not corporeal – I’m a multidimensional wavelength and as such, I can both see and feel all those things you refuse to deal with right now.” Dean’s head shoots up, his green eyes staring at the wall angrily. He grits his teeth.

“What do you want me to say, Castiel?” He hopes the venom in his voice conveys his displeasure but the angel doesn’t seem to care.

“Are you mad because I made you deal or are you mad because you did well on the deal? Better yet, are you mad because you enjoyed it?” Castiel’s tone is mocking and Dean’s heart beats harder.

“I didn’t enjoy watching an innocent kid die just because you wanted to be a dick.” Dean’s mouth feels like cotton and in his peripheral, he can see Castiel shaking his head disapprovingly.

“Then why’d you kiss me?” The angel sounds smug and Dean puts the book down on the cushion, fingers twitching where he sets them on his knee. He drops his eyes to the carpet.

“Lack of judgment.” Though Castiel doesn’t move, he can feel his gaze intensify and he fights to keep his breathing steady.

“It excited you. I don’t see a problem with it, personally, but it seems like you need to come to terms with your sadism, little one.” The angel straightens against the wall and Dean drops his head in his hands in exasperation.

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now. Don’t you have better things to do than harass me all day?” The air shifts in the room and Dean thought he knew better than to snap at Castiel given his love of hurting him. Surprisingly, other than the sizzle in the air, nothing happens until Castiel sighs and uncrosses his arms.

“Fine. Live in denial, Dean, but remember that Heaven knows all and I am a part of Heaven. Lie to yourself if you want – you can’t lie to me.” Without giving Dean a chance to reply, Castiel moves from the wall and strides down the hallway, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

Dean growls lightly and pulls harshly at his short hair, feeling nauseous and dizzy with anxiety. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes and he blinks them away quickly, suddenly trembling and overcome with anger. He looks at the empty spot where the angel stood and glares at it as though it will help in some way. Without making the conscious decision, he stands and storms down the hall, kicking the bedroom door open and pausing in the entry way. Castiel is lying horizontally across the bed and he carefully places his own book beside him when he turns to look at Dean. He raises his eyebrows at Dean’s curled fists and set jaw. They stay like this, quiet and staring, for several seconds before Dean breaks the silence.

“You’re wrong. About me,” Dean grits out and Castiel furrows his brow in confusion. “I’m not sadistic. I’m not a murderer. I’m not evil. I’m not you.” The strong emphasis on Dean’s last sentence invokes a smile from the angel who lolls his head to the side casually and blinks in mock innocence. Castiel bites his thumb for a moment before speaking.

“You’re throwing stones, baby angel.” Dean opens his mouth to refuse the pet name but the angel interjects. “Why are you being so difficult? Who are you trying to persuade?” Castiel casts an obvious glance around the room and shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just you and I up here and I honestly don’t give a fuck what you do so long as you’re obedient. Don’t get me wrong, I like you better morally corrupt but that’s just me being perverse.”

“I don’t want you to like me – that’s the fucking problem.” Dean falters on the words and Castiel’s smile wanes as he narrows his eyes. The human refuses to look away and knows what Castiel is going to say before he even opens his mouth.

“Yes, you do.” It isn’t mocking or condescending – it’s stated as a fact and Dean doesn’t say anything for a few moments.

“No.” He wishes he sounded more convincing and Castiel raises one eyebrow. Finally, the angel sighs and retrieves his book from his side, ignoring Dean.

“Go away,” Castiel murmurs, eyes glued to the pages. Dean opens his mouth to shoot back a snide remark he hasn’t actually thought of yet but the angel waves a dismissing hand in his direction. “Your moral dilemma is trying on my patience. Go away.”

Dean barely jumps back in time to avoid being slammed in the face with the door as Castiel uses his powers to shut it on him. He stares at the painted wood for a beat before huffing in frustration and turning back to his place on the couch. Picking up the book, he reads three paragraphs before he realizes he’s too wound up to focus his attention and he throws it at the wall. He lies down and covers his eyes with his arm, trying to calm himself down while simultaneously recalling everything he hates about the blue-eyed psychopath he’s trapped with. Dean’s life has been far from perfect but he honestly can’t recall a time where he’s ever been so full of unabashed rage toward another being. He’s pretty sure he’s never hated himself so much, either, with his constant need for validation from the same thing ripping it from him time and time again.

Standing, his fist connects with the drywall as hard as he can manage and he sighs when he hears the bones of his knuckles snapping in protest, a satisfied smile on his face. Broken hand be damned, he pummels the wall repeatedly until he’s out of breath; when the plaster fixes itself before his eyes, he scowls and hits it again out of spite. There’s blood smeared on his fingers and he stares at it for a few seconds before he throws a glance toward the kitchen, brows furrowed in thought. Dean slowly walks toward one of the kitchen drawers, leaving a trail of red behind him, picking up a knife and watching the blade glint in the artificial light. Without hesitation, he lifts the utensil and slams the blade on his wrist, slicing the skin as hard as he can, genuinely surprised when he sees blood burst out of the wound like a morbid fountain. Truthfully, Dean doesn’t think he’s entirely human anymore but that isn’t going to stop him from trying to end this pitiful excuse of a life; he watches the tiles become flooded with red. For good measure, he closes his eyes and does it again, shouting loudly when he feels the vibrations of the blade hitting bone. The knife falls to the floor and he bites his tongue to keep from vomiting, bracing himself on the counter.

“What are you doing?” Castiel is standing at the entrance of the kitchen with a look of pure bemusement, his eyes glued to the slit wrist. Dean spares him a glance but catches sight of his arm in the process and gags, burying his face in his other arm.

“Fuck this hurts,” Dean whispers and hears the angel’s footsteps as he slowly comes over to him. Surprisingly, Castiel doesn’t say anything and Dean cracks his eyes open again to make sure he’s still there. When his blue eyes finally leave the bloody mess Dean has created, his face is laced with disapproval.

“Suicide is a sin, Dean, and a weak one at that.” Castiel’s eyes are void of emotion and Dean’s vision begins to blur as he stills the bile rising in his throat.

“This fucking hurts. I should be dead by now – what the fuck?” Dean’s knees give out and he tumbles gracelessly to the floor, one hand still attached to the counter. He doesn’t see Castiel roll his eyes.

“It takes sixteen minutes for the human body to exsanguinate. The blood on the floor is still warm – it hasn’t been sixteen minutes.” When Dean looks up at Castiel with a question on his lips, the angel explains, “That is how God created you – I was there when He did it. His mercy allows you time to repent for your mistake.” Castiel crouches in front of Dean, the edges of his trench coat tipped with crimson. “What makes you think you’re able to die? You’re in Heaven, Dean – there’s no death here.”

“I want to die.” Dean’s head thumps loudly against the cupboard door and his hand slips off the edge of the counter. Castiel sighs.

“You forfeited that privilege when you trapped me in holy fire,” he whispers and gently runs his finger down Dean’s arm, the wound healing as he does. The human scowls, eyes shining with unshed tears of frustration and Castiel cups his jaw in his hand. They lock eyes for a moment before Castiel says, “go back to sleep, Dean.” 

+++

Dean wakes up on the couch and the first thing he sees is Castiel suspended upside down from the ceiling; he blinks his eyes rapidly to make sure he’s seeing things correctly. His throat is dry enough to hurt when he attempts to yawn and his entire body feels like flulike. Castiel tosses him a glance before returning to his book and Dean leans on his elbow, his head pounding. He sighs heavily and scrubs his eyes harshly.

“I hate you,” he mutters, his voice raspy and he tries sitting up but lies back down when it proves too much work. The book in Castiel’s hand disappears and he apparates standing upright a few feet away from Dean.

“You should be nice to me.” Castiel leans on the wall with his arms crossed, a smug look spread on his features. Dean rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to tell the angel to fuck off but Castiel continues. “What is it with you Winchesters and your pathetic bouts of martyrdom?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Dean stretches like a cat on the couch and groans, rubbing his temples in circles. Castiel watches him for a moment before speaking.

“I’m talking about your brother.” Castiel’s tone is nonchalant but Dean sits up quickly – too quickly – and ignores the wave of dizziness he feels from the movement. He stares at the angel to see a hint of humor but when he concludes that he’s being serious, his eyes widen.

“What? Sam? What about him?” Dean can feel his palms beginning to sweat, burning his thighs through the denim of his jeans. Castiel is stoic, his blue eyes never leaving Dean’s and the human begins to panic. “Cas. What about Sam?” Castiel stays silent for a moment.

“Are you going to be nice to me?” There’s a shadow of a smile on Castiel’s lips and Dean curses under his breath, biting his tongue deeply enough to draw blood. Of course the angel would turn his brother into an abuse tactic. The human nods frantically anyway. “Say please.”

“Cas, come on,” Dean pleads, finally standing and wiping his clammy hands on his jeans. When the angel only smiles, Dean sighs. “Please. Please just tell me.” Satisfied, Castiel nods.

“Sam has been consorting with crossroads demons.” Dean feels his heart skip a beat and he involuntarily shakes his head in refusal.

“No, he wouldn’t do that.” Dean watches a flash of confusion fall on Castiel’s face before it is replaced with stone. The human takes a deep breath. “How do you know that?” Castiel’s eyes fall to the floor for a moment as he resituates himself against the wall.

“I have connections.” Castiel shrugs and moves to walk away but Dean grabs his arm hastily.

“What? That’s it?” Castiel stares at his arm before raising his eyes to Dean’s angrily. “We need to go. Now.” Castiel rips his limb away.

“I’m sorry?” Castiel tilts his head to the side.

“We need to go talk to Sam.” Dean flinches when Castiel erupts into laughter, eyes dangerous and mocking.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right? We’re not going anywhere, little one,” Castiel hisses and rounds on Dean, making him take a few steps back.

“Then I’m going –“ Dean begins his sentence but is harshly interrupted by the angel’s hand tightening around his wrist painfully, invoking a squeak from the human. On instinct, Dean tries to pull away even though it does nothing.

“And do what, Dean? Tell him you’ve been there, done that? Tell him you decided to go with an angel instead? Have you lost your fucking mind?” His blue eyes are aflame with anger but Dean shakes his head firmly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“That’s my fucking brother, Cas. You have you let me go,” Dean shouts and the angel pushes him back several feet where he barely manages to catch himself on the corner of the couch.

“I don’t give a fuck who he is and raising your voice isn’t going to change my answer. All you’re doing right now is pissing me off.” The blue turns into black and he narrows his eyes. “I said no.”

“Alright, fuck you.” Dean swings a punch to the angel’s jaw that he really knows he shouldn’t but his wrist is caught in midair and his arm twisted back painfully. A deep growl reverberates from Castiel’s chest and he’s thrown to the floor, his arm still bent wrong.

“You are the most annoying fucking creature I have ever had to deal with.” He swings Dean by his arm and tosses him carelessly down the hall. Dean pushes himself up on his hands and knees and tries to get his breath back.

“That’s my brother,” Dean says as though it will magically change the situation and he hears Castiel sigh before kicking him in the ribs, making him fall again. After a few moments, Castiel takes a deep breath and kneels down in front of the human, running his fingers through his hair softly.

“Okay, baby, listen to me.” Castiel’s tone is gentle but Dean pushes him away the best he can, scowling through the pain. He rises on his knees and glares at the angel.

“I said fuck you,” Dean grits between clenched teeth and Castiel’s eyes flash with anger briefly before he calms himself. He cups Dean’s jaw and runs his thumb along his lower lip.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice is firm and leaves no room for interruption so Dean bites his tongue and continues to glare. He can see the angel battling for words. “I know he’s your brother, yeah? I know he’s of great significance to you and I know you’re only looking out for his best interests.” Castiel furrows his brows in concentration and Dean knows he’s having a hard time of this; there’s a small pang in his chest that he’s trying. “But no.” Castiel shakes his head for emphasis. “Sweetheart, he’s going to ask questions you can’t answer and he’s going to want you to stay. And Dean, I know you’ll want to stay too, but you can’t.”

“Cas, he’s going to do something stupid and –“ Dean swallows hard in his throat. “I can’t let him end up like me.” The quick flicker of something across Castiel’s face tells him that he didn’t like that response but he remains gentle.

“And if he does? You can’t help him now, Dean, no matter how much you want to. You gave all of that up for your mother, you remember?” Castiel’s voice is barely a whisper and Dean licks his bottom lip habitually, tasting salt and blood on the angel’s thumb; Castiel’s eyes track the movement. “I’m only doing this to spare you, little one. Do you really want your heart to break upon knowing what your brother has been up to?” Dean takes a deep breath but says nothing because of course he doesn’t want to hurt.

“Did he?” Dean murmurs and Castiel tilts his head in confusion, his other hand resting softly on Dean’s thigh. “A deal. Did he make a deal?”

“I don’t know.” Castiel offers a small shake of his head and brushes away the tear that trails down Dean’s cheek. Dean’s bottom lip trembles slightly and he drops his eyes. “I’m sorry.” The human nods and sighs.

“Sam,” Dean mutters to himself, blinking rapidly and causing more tears to cascade down his face. Castiel presses a kiss to his cheek and hums.

“Don’t think about him.” Castiel’s voice is soft and Dean can’t tell if it’s a suggestion or a command but when the thumb on Dean’s bottom lip is replaced by chapped lips, he doesn’t pull away.

Dean surprises himself when he pulls Castiel toward him by his lapels and presses into him harder. Castiel threads his fingers in Dean’s hair and plunges his tongue into the human’s mouth, making a pleased sound when Dean responds in kind. He concentrates on the sizzle of the angel and the unearthly way he tastes to distract himself from the incessant urge to break down sobbing. Spreading his knees, his fingers wrap around the knot of Castiel’s tie and pull him to floor on top of him; the warm palm that was settled on his thigh slowly slides its way up Dean’s side to rest on his chest. Kneeling above him, Castiel’s coat envelops his body and Dean doesn’t want to admit how safe that makes him feel.

The human rakes his nails down Castiel’s clothed back and hears the distinct sounds of wings unfurling and feathers ruffling; his moan is swallowed greedily by the angel’s mouth. As Castiel’s hand moves to unbutton his jeans, Dean idly wonders if he should be repenting for this because he’s fairly certain he’s sinning. The angel takes to biting at Dean’s neck and he busies himself with wondering if Castiel requires absolution for his obvious blasphemies. The image of Castiel on his knees begging for forgiveness at God’s feet sets a shiver through Dean that he can’t explain. He moans loudly and causes the angel to hiss near his ear before his pants are ripped off him in a hurry, his thighs parted roughly and nails dug sharply into the soft skin there. Eyes shut tightly, he buries one hand in Castiel’s hair while the other continues to claw at the angel’s back, trying desperately to forget how to feel so his heart won’t hurt anymore.

Dean vaguely recalls when Castiel told him he can see his feelings surrounding him and he uses that information to his advantage, arching his back and trying to pour his desperation into the air around them. He can hear the angel shifting above him, sitting up and undoing his own pants, and Dean tries harder because they aren’t close enough and he can still think. Clenching his legs around the other man’s hips, he involuntarily grabs his trench coat and pulls, whimpering softly when nothing happens. His attempts mustn’t be in vain; Castiel growls softly and drops hard on his elbows above Dean, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from the human even before the angel sheaths himself in Dean’s body.

Their hips collide, Castiel bottoming out quickly, and Dean throws his head back, moaning loudly despite his skull hitting the floor painfully. A harsh bite if offered to his neck as the angel decides on a rhythm and Dean focuses his attention on the sting of broken skin to distract himself from the image of Sam. Castiel moves one hand to tangle and pull roughly on Dean’s short hair, expelling breathy moans directly into the human’s ear and causing him to let out his own. He’s vaguely aware of Castiel saying his name but he ignores it in favor of the painful drag of the angel’s thrusts and he clenches the other’s hips tighter.

Dean tilts his head to the side and buries his nose in Castiel’s soft hair that smells like ozone, idly wondering if all angels smell like fresh air from flying. The thrusts become brutal and Dean can feel his lower back chaffing on the carpet but he wraps his arms around Castiel’s neck and does his best to meet the angel’s movements. Dean chokes back a surprised gasp as his stomach suddenly begins to knot and his limbs tingle, causing his entire body to feel elevated and numb; he always wakes up with these symptoms but he’s never actually felt their arrival until now. His heart beat quickens and without the conscious effort, his arms tighten around the angel and he arches into him, seeking out immediate contact.

Dean only knows he’s shouting because he can feel his throat muscles working. His vision explodes in vibrant red, casting the world in a hazy glow when he cracks his eyes open and his heart skips a beat upon noticing the obvious outlines of large wings from Castiel’s back. Dean can see them flutter slightly and spread through the walls as if they were made of water; even just seeing the impression of Castiel’s true form, Dean knows he hasn’t seen anything so beautifully terrifying. Black lines etched into a world of crimson and Castiel’s entire being is glowing in shades of blacks and purples. Not knowing what he’s seeing, Dean freezes and just stares.

Castiel mustn’t notice Dean’s apprehension because he doesn’t even slow down and moves to hover above the human, the large lift in his wings telling Dean he must be close. Dark hair matted to his forehead, Castiel moans loudly and Dean can see the impression of a serpent’s tongue and his inky eyes are shimmering with the same purple surrounding the rest of him. The aura expands and brightens until the entire red haze is drenched in purples, exploding into a bright white before collapsing back onto its owner. Dean suddenly feels nauseous and moves to push the angel off him, Castiel making a displeased noise but moving nonetheless just in time for Dean to sit up and vomit what little he has in his stomach. After he’s finished heaving, he’s surprised to see Castiel on his haunches watching him curiously. He raises his eyebrows in a silent question and Dean finds himself staring into his blue eyes in awe. No red, no purple, no black, and no wings. He takes a deep breath and swallows the lump in his throat.

“Everything was red,” Dean whispers, his voice hoarse from throwing up as he moves to stand but finds it difficult with the vertigo. Castiel gives him a confused look, head tilted slightly.

“Pardon me?” Castiel reaches out his hand to steady Dean after his second attempt to stand and the touch makes Dean’s arm sizzle strangely. He stares at it for a few seconds before looking back at the angel.

“I – I felt weird again and then everything went red and you had wings and a snake tongue and then you exploded,” Dean mutters hurriedly but Castiel just continues to stare at him.

“I exploded?” Castiel’s tone is that of someone humoring a child and Dean huffs in frustration, pushing his hand away and grabbing the wall to stand on his own. He glares at the angel.

“Yes. You exploded into a shitload of purple and black.” Dean sets his jaw angrily and Castiel sighs, standing and looking bored already. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Okay. And?” Castiel steps to the left to make his way out of the hallway but Dean grabs his sleeve and stops him.

“And? And what the fuck happened?” Dean’s eyes flicker between Castiel’s frantically but he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Castiel yanks his arm away.

“Well, I’m not sure about your red but you just caught a glimpse of an angel, Dean. Congratulations.” Castiel’s eyes sparkle mischievously and he smirks. “Maybe.”

“What? Why maybe?” Dean reaches out to grab him again as he starts to walk away but Castiel ignores him. The angel’s dark chuckle floats down the hallway and he’s suddenly much more worried about himself than Sam.

+++

This time, as Dean stands in the center of a crossroads across from a middle-aged businessman with Castiel casually circling them, it’s surprisingly easier. He finds himself ignoring the man for the most part, distracted by black eyes and a dirty trench coat, and he has to keep himself from tugging at Castiel’s sleeve each time he passes behind him. His client furrows his brows each time Dean’s eyes follow something unseen to the other human and the angel keeps casting him reprimanding glares, silently telling him to pay attention. For all of Dean’s wanting to be obedient, he can’t seem to keep his eyes off the creature.

Dean tries to pretend because that’s what he’s accustomed to doing in situations that make him uncomfortable but after what transpired, he’s finding it difficult to ignore the knot in his stomach each time he so much as thinks of the angel. He is vaguely aware he’s affirming something to the other man but his mind is focused solely on Castiel who is standing to the side staring at the sky, obviously hearing something Dean’s ears cannot; he wonders what Heaven is saying. The angel turns away and meets Dean’s line of sight, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes angrily, hissing at the human to pay attention.

He bites his lip and tries to concentrate on the deal but is once again distracted by Castiel standing behind the businessman, looking him up and down appraisingly. Dean feels a stab of irrational jealousy and snaps at the man to stop talking because he hasn’t got all night to waste on him. The angel furrows his brows at him and tilts his head curiously, face overtaken with incredulity. He ignores the warning look and swallows hard in his throat, suddenly angry. Though Dean has been dealing with harsh mood swings for months now, compliments of one said corrupt angel, they still catch him off-guard and make them that much harder to control.

The man wants to bring his daughter home from wherever she ran off to and Dean’s smile is lined with razorblades; neither he nor Castiel are expecting it when Dean asks for his life in exchange. Castiel’s jaw drops and the man sputters but Dean presses on, spouting promises he knows he can’t keep just because he stood too close to an angel the human can’t even see. Castiel asks if Dean is “fucking crazy” just as the man reluctantly agrees; he wants to see his family one more time, he tells Dean but he ignores the plea. Dean saunters to the client hurriedly and punches him hard enough to cause him to stumble and he notices Castiel taking a step back in shock. Before the angel can grab him, Dean yanks the man’s car keys from his hand and stabs them directly into his neck as hard as he can.

As the body drops to the ground, equipped with a gargling noise and a puddle of blood, Castiel takes Dean’s shoulder and harshly spins him around. His hand is coiled into a fist and Dean stares at him with hard eyes, waiting for the blow that dies when their gazes meet, Castiel tilting his head curiously. Dean’s heart is pounding and his breathing is labored, head bowed in submission though his body is rigid with hostility. Castiel’s hand loosens and he takes a small step toward Dean, cupping his cheek in his hand and tilting his head back to face him fully. He trails his thumb across the human’s cheekbone and across his brow, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and Dean bites his inner cheek anxiously.

“You look beautiful, baby angel,” Castiel whispers and the human huffs a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Dean furrows his brows in confusion but leans into the touch, hand reaching out to grab the lapels of the angel’s trench coat. The human opens his mouth in question but Castiel silences him with a soft kiss, causing Dean’s muscles to relax on instinct as he melts into the affection. Backing away slightly, lips brushing over Dean’s as he talks, Castiel murmurs, “my beautiful black-eyed angel.” At this, Dean pulls away startled.

“W-what?” He tries to pull back but strong arms keep him in place, tugging him closer to the angel and Castiel ducks his head to nip at the shell of Dean’s ear. Part of him is compelled to give himself to the creature but the other part forces him to ask, “my eyes are black?” Castiel hums in affirmation and Dean swallows the lump in his throat. He pulls away a little further, trying to make the angel look at him fully. “Is this it then? The dizziness, being sick all the time, seeing all that weird shit – it’s all been leading up to this.” Dean nods self-deprecatingly and bites his lip until he tastes blood. Castiel sighs.

“Dean,” Castiel breathes out softly, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes; he opens his mouth to continue but Dean cuts him off sharply.

“I’m not human anymore, am I, Cas? What the fuck? What happ – what am – Cas…” The words are rushed and breathless and Dean tries to pull away, feeling trapped, but the angel holds him tighter, kissing his neck softly in an effort to soothe him. As the first tears begin to well in Dean’s eyes, he suddenly lunges forward and grabs fistfuls of Castiel’s trench coat. “Cas, help me.”

“I’ll help you,” Castiel hisses into his ear and licks a stripe up the human’s neck; Dean doesn’t hesitate before leaning into the touch. He tries to ask again about being human but the angel hushes him and Dean suddenly doesn’t feel like dealing with it anymore.

Just a few months ago, Dean would be repulsed to be having sex next to a dead body but even if he doesn’t know what he is, he know he hasn’t been the same Dean since meeting the angel. Castiel’s hands are gentle and though he knows he did a bad thing tonight, Dean is happy that the creature isn’t angry with him. He’s something of an insatiable child with his hands grabbing at everything he can find, mouth firmly attached to the angel’s neck while he tries to pull Castiel down to him each time he moves back. The first time Dean breathes out the title of master, Castiel is affected enough to stutter mid-thrust and groan loudly in the human’s ear, the hand on his hip squeezing hard enough to bruise. Dean’s moans become a litany to the angel and it sends him over the edge unexpectedly; the human’s smile is triumphant though he has yet to be touched.

After Castiel takes care of the mess Dean made, he takes the human’s hand and flies them back to Heaven where the angel seems to instantly forget Dean’s existence. He hears the basement door shut and his shoulders sag in disappointment, aimlessly looking around the living room for something to do. After fidgeting for a long while, he runs his hands through his hair and decides to follow. Once through the entrance, his chest tightens with the pained memories of being locked away for days on end, cold and starved on the concrete floor. His feet falter on the last step into the hall, eyes slicing to the right to peer fearfully at the steel door, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip anxiously. He makes the conscious decision to never give the angel reason to imprison him again and swallows the uncomfortable lump in his throat.

Breathing deeply, he furrows his brows and looks around the expansive area, biting his inner cheek and realizing he has no idea where Castiel actually went. Something is scratching loudly at the walls and a chill creeps up his spine; he closes his eyes briefly to distract himself from the noise and feels a pull on his stomach. Slowly opening his eyes, Dean furrows his brows and looks to the left, cautiously stepping in the direction of the tugging. The farther he walks, the stronger the sensation and he smiles softly, realizing that he’s being pulled to the angel like a magnet; he purposely ignores that this is more than likely directly connected to his blackened eyes.

Dean finds him in a room more suited for an abandoned asylum than Heaven filled with metal tables, chains, and medical equipment. There is blood splattered on one wall and there’s a young girl hanging by chains from the ceiling, the skin of her back pulled tautly. Castiel greets him without looking up from whatever he’s doing and Dean bites his lip harshly. He makes eye contact with the girl and she hisses loudly, bearing sharp teeth and bloody eyes as the chains she’s suspended from rattle with her attempt to lunge at him. Dean stumbles back with a gasp, inadvertently running into the edge of a table. With inky eyes and a snarl, Castiel sprays her with something and she screams, her skin sizzling and melting as though the liquid burns. The angel grabs her by the throat and squeezes.

“We don’t attack my pet,” he growls and she mewls in pain before he lets her go and turns away. He wipes his hands on his coat and looks back to Dean; he opens his mouth but Dean cuts him off.

“What the fuck is that?” Dean’s eyes are wide and she bares her teeth at him. Castiel sighs.

“An abomination.” The angel sprays more liquid on her flesh and she screams in agony, her cries loud enough to hurt Dean’s ears.

“What are you doing to her?” Dean gags when Castiel pulls a piece of her flesh from her body and throws it carelessly on the table. Castiel shrugs.

“I get bored so I play with lesser beings. I usually play with demons but I found this thing while I was on a deal and decided to bring her home.” Castiel raises his fingers in the air, making a twirling motion and causing the monster to spew violently in pain. He grins at Dean.

Castiel waves his hand and a chair slides across the floor to rest beside Dean; he gestures for the human to sit and he does, eyes glued to Castiel as he twirls his fingers once again. Something rattles in a cage in the corner and Dean watches as the angel makes a loose fist, eyes still on the tools in front of him, and the thing in the cage screeches and falls limp, whimpering in pain. He bites his inner cheek to keep the wide grin from bursting on his face at watching Castiel work. He should be repulsed or scared – he should be a lot of things – but he can’t stop the gushing adoration from flowing into his chest when the girl cowers in fear as the angel approaches her. Castiel holds something out to Dean and asks him if he wants to try; hesitantly, the human takes what is offered and follows the angel’s lead. It’s the most fun Dean has had in a long time.

By the time Dean is done playing, he’s covered in blood and the room smells of rotting flesh, which makes him more than a little ill though he ignores it in favor of watching the angel smile. Biting his lip, he looks at the girl who is now missing a significant amount of skin and all of her sharp teeth, tilting his head and examining his handiwork. He walks up to the monster and she slowly opens her eyes, a strangled sound of pain coming from her chest, and he smiles. She glares at him as ferociously as her weakened body will allow and he’s vaguely aware of Castiel moving things around behind him, his eyes focused more on the ragged edges where he ripped her flesh away. Without the effort of thought, he slowly leans forward and drags his tongue along her skinned throat, a whimper rising from her as she tries to move away in her restraints. Dean finds he doesn’t much like the taste and grimaces slightly, scowling at her as though it’s her fault.

Stepping back, Dean catches the sight of Castiel standing beside him with raised eyebrows, though his face is void of any other emotion. The human remarks that she doesn’t taste good and the angel slowly nods before furrowing his brows, slowly handing him a silver blade, telling Dean to finish her off. When Castiel moves behind him again, Dean catches his reflection in a table-like restraint attached to the far wall and he bites his lip; sure enough, his eyes are black – hollow and lifeless. He stares for a while, motionless as his mind has trouble processing what he’s seeing. Castiel steps into view behind him and they lock eyes in the reflection, both silent and still for several seconds. The angel blinks and drops the black filter over his blue orbs and Dean swallows hard in his throat; in that moment, he feels more a part of Castiel than he ever has. Seeing him by his side, Dean can’t think of anything wrong about his situation because he’s having trouble coming up with anything wrong about Castiel. With a sudden surge of pride, he raises the blade and quickly plunges it deeply into the girl’s chest, his eyes never leaving the angel’s. The small smile on the creature’s lips makes everything okay.

+++

Castiel is leaning against the wall of an unnamed building, running his fingers along the bricks and causing them to crack and shift under his manipulations; Dean cringes each time he hears the noise, not really confident that Castiel is insightful enough to know when the structure has had enough. He isn’t sure what it would be like to die by a collapsing building but he can safely say he doesn’t want to find out tonight. One particular trail of the angel’s finger sends a long, jagged fissure up the wall and the entire thing visibly shifts at the wound. Dean steps back and casts a fearful look toward the other man who only shrugs and steps away from his post, sighing with impatience. After a few minutes, Castiel’s bright eyes train on something in the distance, something Dean can’t see, and Crowley apparates before them with a grin. His eyes flicker between Castiel and Dean and his smile widens, which causes Dean to shrink in on himself and take a minute step backwards; the demon opens his mouth but the angel cuts himself.

“What do you want, Crowley?” Castiel drops the black filter over his eyes and Dean doesn’t miss the way Crowley’s body tenses, though he obviously does his best to hide it. He figures he would be scared, too, if he were a demon facing a renegade angel.

“What – no hello?” Crowley plunges his hands into the pockets of his coat but when the angel simply narrows his eyes, Crowley sighs. “You have something of mine, mate, and I think you know what it is.” Castiel smiles softly.

“And I think you know that I don’t care.” Castiel squares his shoulders and Crowley sets his jaw. He looks at Dean and smirks.

“I bet your little pet there does,” Crowley mutters and the angel slices his eyes to Dean who shakes his head slightly, brows furrowed. “I’ll tell you what – give me my employees back from your torture chamber and I’ll tell you all you want to know about a certain Winchester who came looking for my services.” At this, Dean perks up and his eyes widen.

“Sam. You have information about Sam?” Dean’s words are rushed and Castiel glares at him. He’s torn between wanting to obey and wanting to save his brother; he figures the angel will punish him regardless so he speaks again. “What do you know about Sam?”

“Dean,” Castiel hisses with an angry stare but Dean cuts him off almost immediately.

“Please, Cas,” he pleads and the angel narrows his eyes dangerously. “That’s my little brother – you wouldn’t let me see him so the least you could do is let me know what he’s gotten himself into.” Castiel’s eyes return to blue and Crowley smirks; Dean pulls on the angel’s sleeve gently. “Please.”

“Fine.” Castiel sighs and purses his lips angrily and Crowley’s smile widens. Dean whispers a thank you to the angel but he just rolls his eyes. Dean bites his lip at Castiel’s annoyance and is surprised when he feels a gentle squeeze placed on his arm before the angel moves away. This time he bites his lip to keep from smiling.

“Release my demons and I’ll tell you what I know. Deal?” Crowley gestures his hands in the air and Castiel huffs before snapping his fingers, scowling in the demon’s direction.

“Done,” Castiel mutters, turning his back to the other man as Dean takes a step toward Crowley.

“Okay, you have your demons or whatever, now what about Sam?” Crowley watches the angel for a moment before turning to the human, kicking the ground with his boot.

“Your precious brother has been cycling through my employees faster than we can reject him, mate, and he’s hellbent on finding you.” Dean opens his mouth but Crowley hushes him. “Eventually, he landed in front of me trying to barter everything he could to get you back – he really misses you – but I didn’t deal with him. His soul is free and I sent him on his merry way.”

“You didn’t do the deal? But why?” Dean idly hears the sound of Castiel breaking the empty building behind him and he sees Crowley watching the angel in confusion for a moment before turning back to the human.

“Are you daft?” Crowley laughs and Castiel chides him, making the demon roll his eyes and continue. “Sam is trying to make a deal to bring you back – to essentially clear your debt to Feathers over there. You can’t deal with a demon to undo a deal made with an angel and even if I could –“ Crowley casts a glance to Castiel “- I wouldn’t. I don’t really feel like having the wrath of Heaven rain down on me.”

“Thank fucking God,” Dean whispers, heaving a sigh of relief and running his hand through his hair. Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically and digs the toe of his show into the ground nonchalantly.

“No, thank me because I could have easily told Sam where you’ve been and exactly how to find you. You moronically got yourself into this situation and I’m itching to make it worse; I’m pretty sure having your precious baby brother finding out that you’ve subjected yourself to an eternity of being a slave would be a great way to do that,” Crowley hisses and Dean’s eyes widen. He knows Crowley hasn’t been his biggest fan since he walked away from the deal but he thinks this is a little dramatic and his jaw drops. He stutters to find words but Castiel cuts in.

“Crowley, shut the fuck up,” the angel growls loudly before apparating in front of Dean, standing between him and the demon protectively. “Breathe a word of his whereabouts to Sam Winchester and I will end you in all the worst ways, do you understand?” The sound of wings fills the space and Crowley smiles awkwardly, clearly defeated, eyes slicing to Dean briefly before he vanishes.

Castiel runs his hand through his dark hair in annoyance as he turns to face the human, body tense and Dean finds himself ripping apart the angel’s body language without realizing it. The look etched on his face reminds Dean of the many times he’s had to defend his girlfriends from drunken jerks or guys who wouldn’t take no for an answer. There’s a part of Dean’s mind telling him that Castiel only stood up for him because he’s the angel’s property now and there’s likely an unspoken rule that you don’t touch something that belongs to a heavenly being. Typical these days, Dean chooses to ignore the logic and believe that the angel defended him because he actually appeals to the creature now and maybe, though rationally unlikely, Castiel actually cares for Dean. The human’s chest swells at this thought and his mouth opens before he can stop the words from spilling out.

“I love you,” Dean mumbles and immediately, he takes a step backward, hand flying up to cover his mouth. Castiel narrows his eyes and slowly raises his gaze, tilting his head to the side slightly but otherwise unmoving. His lips part slightly as though contemplating something to say but he sighs instead and stares at Dean for longer than necessary. Finally, the angel blinks a few times and averts his gaze to the ground.

“I need you to go do a deal now,” Castiel mutters and begins walking in the opposite direction; Dean is fairly certain this is the angel’s way of avoiding the topic at hand – something he is more than familiar with doing.

“Okay,” Dean whispers as he jogs to catch up. “Where are we going?” At this, Castiel stops and turns around, though still not quite meeting the human’s eyes.

“Not we. You. I’m not going. You’ll know where to go when you get there – it’s in your hometown.” The angel raises his hand to send Dean away but the human backs up a step.

“Why aren’t you going? Come with me.” Even Dean thinks he sounds pathetic but Castiel doesn’t show any signs of caring. “Cas, why aren’t you coming too?” Castiel sighs.

“Dean, you’re –“ Castiel begins but Dean cuts him off almost instantly, brows furrowed in confusion and his shoulders tense.

“I told you I loved you and you send me away – even for you, that’s fucking low,” Dean shouts, his words hurried and his heart pounding with anxiety. Castiel narrows his eyes and stares at Dean, clearly comprehending the situation and trying to decipher what to say. The human knows his emotions have been all over the place lately but he can’t help but be a little hurt that Castiel doesn’t understand. Finally, Castiel nods slowly and puts his hand on Dean’s cheek.

“I’m not dismissing you; baby angel, we have work to do and you’re grown enough to do this one alone. You don’t want to be tethered to me on every deal for eternity, do you?” Castiel’s tone is that of a person trying to console a small child and the sound is harsh in Dean’s ears. Dean fists the front of the angel’s trench coat.

“Just one more. Just come with me now and then next time, I’ll go by myself.” Dean is aware he’s begging and he’s also aware by the way Castiel bites his lip that it doesn’t matter. He opens his mouth in protest once more but he’s silenced by a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Make me proud, little one,” Castiel whispers against his skin and before Dean can say anything else, the angel places his fingers to his forehead and whirls the human to Lawrence.

Dean is in the middle of a plea by the time he lands on a random street in the middle of the town and a pedestrian is staring at him with wide eyes. He sighs and looks around, searching for the angel though he knows he won’t find him, and plunges his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He isn’t really prepared for the cold loneliness he feels as he slowly begins walking down the sidewalk; with Castiel gone, he feels like something is missing. 

He passes the town library and his chest tightens remembering all the times Sam would hide away in the building for hours just reading. Ignoring it because he knows he has to, Dean forces himself to walk in the opposite direction and keep his eyes to the ground. Figuring he has time to kill, he stops at the small corner store where his dad always bought his cigarettes and makes a beeline to the coffee machines. There is a woman eyeing him hungrily and for the first time he can ever remember, he doesn’t even meet her gaze as he walks by to get to the counter because he knows Castiel wouldn’t approve. Though he’s stood in line here more times than he can count, everything seems so foreign and his fingers are twitching anxiously at his side. Once paid, he moves to walk out the door, taking a sip of his coffee and burning his tongue on the hot liquid. The door is barely shut behind him when he hears it.

“Dean?” The voice is too familiar behind him and Dean closes his eyes in exasperation, squaring his shoulders and debating his options as now is not the best time for a brotherly reunion. Sighing slightly, he turns around and forces a smile.

“Hey, Sammy,” he mutters and is immediately engulfed in a strong hug; he can feel the optimistic hope in Sam’s squeeze and he gently pats his brother’s back noncommittally. Hesitantly, Sam backs up.

“Dean, are you okay?” Sam is concerned and Dean looks away, conflicting emotions warring inside his chest painfully.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m good,” Dean reassures him horribly. “How have you been?” The look on Sam’s face tells him that he’s failing at pretending and he wishes he could just fly away into nothing – or back to Castiel, where it’s safe.

“Dean, where the hell have you been? I’ve been looking for you forever but nobody knows where you went,” Sam hisses angrily and Dean flinches, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He wants to yell at him for trying to make deals with demons but he isn’t sure how to approach the subject without giving everything away so he bites his lip. He looks his brother in the eye and shrugs, earning a defeated sag of Sam’s shoulders.

“Sam, I’ve got to go-“ Dean begins but Sam cuts him off immediately.

“Dean, you’ve fallen off the grid and I finally run into you by chance at some shitty coffee shop and you can’t even tell me what’s going on? What’s wrong? Are you in trouble?” Sam lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes; Dean glares at it. “Come on, we can fix this. Come home.” Something switches in Dean suddenly at those words and he wants to defend the angel’s honor – to tell Sam there’s nothing to fix, but instead he throws his brother’s hand off him and steps back.

“Come home? Sam, if I wanted to come home,” Dean laughs bitterly, “I would have fucking come home. I’m obviously good so stop looking at me with your damn puppy eyes like I’m some pathetic, messed up headcase who doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Sam cringes and his eyes widen.

“That’s – that’s not what I was saying. I just miss you – you’re my brother.” Sam is choosing his words carefully and Dean rolls his eyes.

“That’s great. I miss you too, Sam, but I’m not coming home. I don’t want to come home,” Dean hisses and though it isn’t entirely the truth, Sam must believe that it is because he looks close to tears.

“Dean, what the hell has gotten into you? You weren’t even there when mom died and now this? I thought dad was in a bad place but you’ve taken the cake.” Sam glares at him and as the words register in Dean’s head, he blinks and furrows his brows.

“Wait, what? Mom’s dead?” Dean’s mouth is agape and Sam huffs in annoyance. He narrows his eyes at his older brother.

“Dean, mom’s been dead for a while. She died the night you ran off to wherever the hell you went.” Sam tilts his head and pulls a face. “Please don’t tell me you didn’t even know.” Dean stares at the ground with wide eyes, his heart pounding in his chest anxiously as he thinks the situation through. Castiel lied to him and the betrayal makes his stomach turn so severely, he feels physically sick. His throat feels ragged when he speaks.

“I – I have to go, Sam.” Dean turns to stalk down the street and though he hears Sam calling him from down the street, he ignores him.

He walks until he finds an empty street and abandoning his coffee, he concentrates and apparates directly in the middle of Castiel’s living room. His body feels numb and he searches frantically for any sign of the angel before angrily kicking open the door to his bedroom. Lying on his bed, Castiel doesn’t acknowledge his entrance other than mumbling something about Dean seeming upset and the human balls his hands into fists at his side. His teeth dig harshly enough into his bottom lip to draw blood as he waits for Castiel to look at him. After several beats of being ignored, he speaks up.

“You’re a fucking liar,” Dean spits and this gets the angel’s attention, his head rising from the pillow and his eyes narrowing angrily. Groaning in annoyance, he stands and drops the black filter over his eyes, glaring at Dean.

“Pardon me?” Castiel appears only a foot in front of Dean and the human takes a surprised step backward, suddenly remembering the damage the creature has the ability to cause. Castiel tilts his head, impatiently awaiting an answer, and Dean feels his resentment melt for a reason he can’t explain.

“You… You said –“ Dean has a hard time forming the words. “My mom is dead, Cas.” He was hoping for sympathy but the angel just looks angrier, his jaw setting tightly. “I ran into Sam and he told me. She wasn’t supposed to die.”

“Who said?” The words are bitter and Dean stares at him confused for a moment. “Who said she wasn’t supposed to die, Dean?” The human takes a deep breath and tries to keep his limbs from trembling.

“You said you’d save her –“ Dean mumbles softly but Castiel cuts him off with a shove to his chest.

“And I did,” Castiel growls. “I saved her soul and she was granted salvation into Heaven the moment you asked for it. You never said to save her life, Dean, and it isn’t my problem that you don’t know how to be explicit when you ask for things.”

“Cas, that’s not –“ Dean wants to say something – anything – to make Castiel see that he played a dirty trick in a game that wasn’t a game to Dean but he also knows the angel won’t listen.

“Does it matter? Standing here now, does it matter?” Castiel’s words are still harsh and Dean swallows hard in his throat. Reality once again hits Dean hard and he’s suddenly painfully aware that he’s throwing stones in the only house he has; his life is Castiel’s and when he upsets the angel, he suffers for his actions. Whether Mary is dead or alive, the damage is done and he’s only making things harder on himself.

“I guess not,” he whispers and after a moment of silence, is pushed roughly against the wall by the angel’s powers, the impact ripping the air from his lungs.

“Let me guess how this went, shall we? Your precious little brother stops you in the middle of the street and suddenly, you lose all thought and logic. You focus on him rather than the job and find out that mommy is dead so you leave without doing the deal to come up here and yell at me for taking liberties in your poor word choices. Is that about right?” Dean doesn’t respond and is thrown painfully to the floor at the angel’s feet. With great effort, Dean rises to his knees and stares up at the creature with eyes filled with remorse.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean mutters but Castiel kicks him in the jaw and sends him flying backwards again. He doesn’t have time to comprehend that his jaw is broken before Castiel is kicking him in the ribs, causing him to sputter and groan loudly.

“Not only do you insult my integrity – again – you decide to tarnish my reputation while you’re at it.” An unseen force twists something inside Dean and he shouts in agony, blood filling his mouth. Another blow lands to Dean’s hip and bone cracks loudly before he’s tossed into the wall again. “Each time I place any ounce of trust in you, you end up disappointing me. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Castiel lifts him by his wrist and swings him across the hall, dislocating his shoulder and causing his skull to crack against the plaster.

“Cas,” Dean mumbles, blood dripping from his lips with the effort of speaking as he crumples into a pile of limp, broken limbs with his insides on fire. His vision is blurry and he wants to vomit. The angel grips his throat tightly, pinning him to wall and choking his windpipe, making Dean’s lungs burn painfully. Close to the human’s ear, Castiel whispers dangerously.

“Do you love me now?” There’s a growl on the end of the sentence and his breath is hot on Dean’s skin. He squeezes his neck once more before throwing him carelessly to the floor, sighing in annoyance.

“Yes,” Dean whispers from his curled up position against the wall, forcing himself to focus on Castiel amidst the dotty veil covering his sight. Castiel tilts his head curiously and Dean spits blood on the floor. “I still love you.” The angel’s eyes turn blue and he sighs in what seems like disappointment. He runs his hand through his hair and slowly walks over to the human on the floor.

“Fucking idiot,” Castiel mutters before crouching down beside Dean and staring at him for a moment. He puts his fingers to the human’s forehead and puts him to sleep.

+++

Castiel was missing when Dean woke up but since he learned the trick of focusing on the angel’s personal gravitational pull, it didn’t take the human excessively long to find him. He isn’t sure what compelled him to follow but the feeling of rejection at the creature’s absence hurt more than he anticipated; Dean doesn’t like the idea of Castiel having any kind of life outside of him anymore. Admittedly, Dean doesn’t like to think about what that means and just accepts his place attached to the angel.

He finds him at a crossroads the same time Castiel realizes he’s been followed, his blue eyes narrowing angrily in Dean’s direction where he’s hidden in the treeline. Dean’s view is obstructed but he can tell by Castiel’s stance that his client has already arrived and is probably stuttering their way through their desires. He makes a step to walk into the clearing but one sharp glare from the angel tells him that he should stay where he is. The human moves between the trees instead, trying to see what’s going on without getting in Castiel’s way and once he has a clear line of sight, his stomach drops. Across from Castiel stands Sam talking too softly for Dean to hear. Sensing that Dean is about to jump, Castiel shakes his head minutely enough that Sam doesn’t notice. He moves through the woods until he is able to get close enough to hear pieces of what’s going on.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel remarks with a look of sympathy Dean knows isn’t real and Sam’s eyes widen in incredulity. “I can’t help you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Sam asks angrily and even Dean flinches at this; Sam isn’t one to show anger very often. Dean’s torn between wanting to comfort his brother and defend the angel. Castiel sets his shoulders.

“I won’t,” the angel growls dangerously and Sam narrows his eyes.

“Why? What the hell is going on that no one will fucking help me?” Sam shouts and Castiel’s eyes slice to Dean momentarily before blacking them out.

“I am required to appear when called but I am under no obligation to perform the deal,” Castiel hisses low in his throat. “And I said no.” Sam nods and laughs bitterly.

“Will you at least tell me why?” He runs his hand through his long brown hair and Dean absently thinks that he should probably get a trim because his hair is getting way too long.

“No.” Castiel’s tone is firm enough that even Sam realizes he’s been defeated and sighs heavily. The younger Winchester opens his mouth to say something but Castiel is already gone by the time he looks up. Sam looks heartbroken and Dean bites his lip awkwardly. He’s contemplating going to his brother but his train of thought is disrupted abruptly.

“I want him,” a voice whispers behind Dean and he turns around to see Castiel staring at Sam with what he could only describe as hunger. His insides twist with a jealousy he’s never felt before and he sneers.

“Why?” Dean has had everything taken away from him and the angel is all he has left – he doesn’t want to lose him too. He pulls on Castiel’s lapels to gain his attention but he’s still forced to be patient for several seconds.

“Because I do. Is that a problem?” Castiel narrows his eyes, challenging the human and Dean’s jaw drops.

“No, you can’t have him,” Dean mutters and puts his hands in his pockets, digging his shoe into the dirt. A gentle hand cups his jaw and raises his eyes to Castiel’s.

“Don’t you love me?” His words are soft and Dean furrows his brows.

“Cas, you don’t get to just –“ An index finger to his lips silences him.

“I thought you loved me. You should want to keep me happy and I would be very happy to have your brother,” Castiel murmurs softly and offers a chaste kiss to Dean’s forehead at his crestfallen features. “Don’t worry; you’ll always be my favorite. But I want him and you’re going to get him for me.”

Not fifteen minutes later, Dean is standing on the edge of town trying his best to look casual as Castiel remains invisible beside him picking bark from a dying tree. He straightens his posture as he sees Sam walking his way and Castiel mutters “show time” before Dean casts him a dirty glare. Dean leans against the wall of a small building while he pretends to be reading a newspaper. He hopes Sam doesn’t notice that his hands are shaking; Dean has never been a good actor and he’s not happy with Castiel’s desires. In his peripheral, he sees his brother pick up his pace as he notices Dean standing there and he calls out his name. Feigning surprise, Dean stares at him and slowly folds the newspaper.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean mutters, standing from the wall. “Weird seeing you again. What are you doing all the way out here?” The conversation is forced but Sam thankfully doesn’t notice, looking tired and beyond exasperated.

“I – nothing, nothing. Dean, look,” Sam stutters, running his hand through his hair again and Dean follows the movement with his eyes. Dean is thankful Castiel rattled Sam enough that he doesn’t even question why he’s here. “Please come home, Dean. I need you – I can’t do this without you anymore.” This piques Dean’s interest.

“Do what anymore?” He furrows his brows in confusion and Sam huffs a breath, eyes slicing to the ground before looking at his brother again.

“Everything. Mom’s dead, Jess left me because she said I was too unstable, and Dad… Well, Dad isn’t Dad anymore and he’s more or less just a drunk mess passed out on the living room floor at random times during the day.” Sam’s eyes shine with unshed tears and Dean glances at the angel who nods reassuringly at him.

“You want me because everything fell through,” Dean murmurs, nodding as his stomach knots with repressed anger; he has trouble concealing his reaction to being replaced by his own flesh. Castiel doesn’t want him and now his own brother is only using him to fill a void. Sam shakes his head vehemently.

“No, man, that’s not what I’m saying –“ Sam begins but Dean cuts him off angrily.

“No. That is what you’re saying. The only reason we keep running into each other now is because you just started looking for me. You didn’t care before.” Dean has the sudden urge to grab Sam by his hair and break every bone in his body just to have Castiel heal him so he could do it all over again. The angel is smirking beside him and Dean can only guess that he can sense the anger radiating from his core.

“Dean, that’s not –“ Sam finally sheds a tear and Dean is surprised how much it doesn’t affect him. Dean curtly nods again.

“Alright, fine.” He lowers his voice and pretends to be okay for fear of blowing everything and letting Castiel down once again. “Look, it’s fine. I get it. If you really want me back that badly, fine. We can be best buds again – we’ll start over.” Sam’s face is a mix of suspicion and hope.

“You’ll come home?” Another tear falls and Castiel comes to stand directly at Dean’s side, tilting his head curiously at Sam’s breakdown. Dean wants to reach out and pull him back to him, disliking the attention he’s giving his brother.

“We’ll be a family again – you and me,” Dean promises, purposely glossing over the question just as Castiel instructed him to do. “But you have to do one thing for me, Sammy.” Sam furrows his brows.

“W-what is it, Dean? Anything – whatever it is, as long as you come home.” Castiel chuckles softly at his left and Dean has to suppress his own smile because the angel’s happiness is infections these days.

“I need you to swear your devotion to Heaven and Heaven’s angels,” Dean says with a blank face, resisting the overwhelming urge to cringe at how scripted he sounds although Castiel doesn’t seem to have an issue with it. Sam tilts his head and swallows hard in his throat.

“Are you serious?” Sam chuckles nervously. “You went religious? Is that what this is about? You’ve become some God fearing church goer, born-again or whatever?”

“Something like that; swear your devotion, Sam, or we can’t be together.” Dean plasters a sympathetic look on his face and Sam looks completely confused. “You have to be at Heaven’s service.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam nods hesitantly. “I swear my devotion to Heaven and the angels and I’m at their service or… whatever.” Dean smiles and whispers “thank you.”

Immediately upon the words leaving Dean’s mouth, Castiel apparates beside him black-eyed and righteous, a dangerous smirk on his face and Sam jumps back several feet, jaw agape. Sam shakes his head the same time Dean nods, looping his arm with the angel’s and following his lead to stand before his little brother. The look of betrayal on Sam’s face would break Dean’s heart if he could still emotions for more than a few seconds; now, though, he can’t keep the proud smile off his face at doing a good job for Castiel. The angel places a lewd kiss to Dean’s neck and the human smiles wider. As Castiel raises his fingers to touch Sam’s forehead, Dean takes Sam’s hand, an unsettling sparkle in his eye.

“Now we’ll be a family forever. Cool, right?” Sam doesn’t have a chance to respond before Castiel knocks him out and flies the three of them to Heaven.

As Castiel takes him roughly on the living room floor, Sam passed out merely inches beside them, Dean digs his nails as deeply into the angel’s flesh as he possibly can, desperately trying to leave some kind of mark. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for the creature and he’s happy that Castiel is pleased, but neither the angel nor Sam know what’s coming. When he reaches orgasm, he’s pushed off the edge by the thought of Sam’s blood on his hands and the abuse he’s bound to incur for his actions when Castiel finds the body parts strewn around his bedroom.

Dean loves his brother – he truly does – but Castiel is all he has left and he’ll be damned if that will be taken from him too.


End file.
